Barbacoa By Victoria Saenz

The Rising Phoenix Review

April 30

Barbacoa

Cattle heads freed from life and skin rest on a bed
of maguey. Lovingly salted by brown hands
beneath night skies. We are preparing their journey.
Shining stars reflected in a black eye in shining red meat. Oil
drips. Bared, square teeth smile before being buried, "good night,"
before driving down country roads, that lead us home and back
again. An early morning return to unearth burning treasure:
time made from heat and smoke and pressure.

Two brothers, backs bent over a brick-lined oven dug
into brown mud and red clay. Well built arms lift in unison
its metal covering. Seeking freedom, smoke drifts up,
Greeting the day as it reaches for the cloudless blue sky.
Children's joy, growing, women at work, bring
black basalt bowls: steaming salsas that promise
a touch of sweat. An open fire roasting peppers.
Round tortillas gently touched by nimble fingers.

We eat meat that slides off white bones. Meat picked
by reaching hands of every age and size, slapped away.
Carmencita, the birthday girl, is honored by the first tortilla.
Smiling. She is abuelita's favorite. On this day, we are
making space for memory. Our history is lived
through the grinding of corn and peppers, heard
In the sounds of children's yells, unchanged, ringing
into open skies. Mesoamerica on an Alabama morning.

By Victoria Saenz

Biography:

Victoria Saenz lives in Mexico City where she works with Doctors of the World increasing access to healthcare for migrants in transit. In her current book project, she uses personal interviews with the women in her family to shed light on the harsh realities lived by migrant women while asking difficult questions that push readers to think about the intersection of personal autonomy and systemic oppression. Victoria's family is from Juarez, Mexico, but she was raised in rural Alabama. She holds a Bachelor's in International Relations from Stanford University and a Master's in Sociology from the University of Oxford.