Sonnet for José’s Enchiladas

Every spring you grant me the honor of your enchiladas.
You advise me it’s a process and my impatience unnecessary.

My mind rewinds to our first meal.
I despised your reputation and nicknamed you Letch.
But by dessert I adored your ambition
when you told me you changed your name
with hopes of forgetting an unapologetic father.
“I named myself after the Aztec god who created it all
and Zapata who fought for the rights of my people but
I kept my first name for the consideration of friends and family.”
“I had never met anyone, besides me, who had a harder time explaining their name.”
He was it. We were destined to plant our own tree.

The smell of your enchiladas awakens me to the present
as you feed me a slice of cheddar cheese letting your fingers glide across my chin.

Luivette Resto