“A ver mija,” he said as his work-worn hands gently mixed
flour, sugar, salt, shortening, baking powder, milk
and a hint of vanilla
into a simple dough,
he called it “pan loco” and laughed.
We had no language but this,
and the smile that would rise
on each of our faces as
we sat across the Formica table
dropping crumbs as we ate.
One thought on “Pan Loco”
Beautiful poem! I like that you opened with the first dialogue in Spanish… it makes the poem feel incredibly authentic. The feeling of authenticity is on tinted with the line “he called it ‘pan loco’ and laughed” … the laugh makes it feel like such a genuine and intimate moment between the people in the poem. I love the specificity of the details, and the last line is absolutely perfect… the image of dropping crumbs reflects a relaxed feeling in which everyone is enjoying the pan loco and the moment. This poem is fantastic!