Hot Tamale Baby

She calls me Antojito – little snack,
her hot tamale baby.
It’s then, drifting into her brown scents:
   cumin and chocolate
   cerveza and caramel
that language first leaves me.

She says, I love to dine at your table.

My body a platter, I serve her all of me:
   herring and pumpernickel
   sausage and butter cheese
revelling in the taste of words.

Against her agave tongue,
I cry out, each syllable its own tremor:
   picante! amor!
   amiga! gracias!
shouting out all the Spanish I know.

Copyright © 2001 Nicole Jackson