Poetry By Amanda Rosas

        Tim Vrtiska CC



Pico de Gallo

This is when pico de gallo tastes the way my grandmother
intended. This coasting into August summer, and grandma
is on my mind because tomatoes finally taste like tomatoes
in the glory of their season and the jalapeños almost take
flight in their parrot-greenness and the red onion, that is 
not red at all, but violet-white, all unite on the tongue like 
a legend or bliss, picante. These colors, these citron, grass 
and lava smells remind me of my grandmother’s unfiltered 
ways, of her kitchen where I watched and learned how
women command. How her bare hands memorized the 
landscape slice and dice of simple fruits and hierba and
made them taste like the ferment of sun and the craft of
harvest. It is summer and the tomatoes are round piñata 
celebrations bursting off the vine. And grandma is leaning 
out the screen door of  her comino kitchen, dinner is ready, 
she hymns, come inside and steady your hunger. Come and 
be yourself.

​

Amanda is a mother, teacher and poet originally from San Antonio. She draws strength and creativity from her Latina roots, and from her husband and three daughters. Her work has been published by The Latino Book Review and The Front Porch Review. She dreams of becoming a full time writer and storyteller.