Cocinando en el Campo

A Poem by Grace Cultivar

In the rural pit of my viscera, you will find

A sheltering altar for sustenance designed

To feed folks walking to the horizon

Allí paciente y callado está el fogón.

Mi tatarabuela me regaló ese instrumento

Through the miracle story of los plátanos

Before I—before I knew anything about cooking,

She understood la fe was the key to surviving.

At that wood stove, darkness surrounded her

When she was robbed and the pantry bare

Lamento de una madre, empty pans over fire

Nothing to cure los niños of panging belly desire.

At that wood stove, she prayed and begged

Era una locura to believe barren trees be pegged

With growth, with fruit, with starch—

Faithfully to el fogón, she would march.

There was nothing left but hope by lunacy

Yellow embers sparked by youngin’s’ ecstasy

Mama Leya stewed a sancocho que duró

Y sobró despues de llenar los estómagos

Of twelve children.

The Lord dried her tears with provisionary rain

Not water but alimento that very same day

Budding from dry branches, magic plantain

Today, I have life because yesterday, she had faith.

Exploring where aesthetic meets story, Grace Cultivar is a multi-genre artist based in Florida who writes poetry and creates mixed media paintings. She is influenced by natural environments, the Puerto Rican diaspora, faith and food. When she is not cooking for her husband and children, she is working on a novel and a collection of paintings based on the cross-generational history, homes and gastronomy of her Puerto Rican family