Leah Huizar
Consider menudo—word like mundo which suggests a world,
or, in this bowl, many spinning bodies. Intestines float

over heaps of hominy anchored in chile broth and citrus
squeeze. We eat. Sundays in San Diego taquerias

the patter and heave of slurping on slippery organs
rises in a sung homiletic. My father tells me of a place

deep in Mexico's belly where everyone looks like us—hard tuft
eyebrows like slabs of meat heavily cut, the kind

made soft over heat, over time. Oh, infinitely variable
Mexican supper of substitution: trade honeycomb

tripe for carnitas—the diminutive flesh, the affectionate -ita,
as in cariñita, little loved one (if love were feminine), little brown

bouquets cinched by a rub of fat. In California's Inland Empire,
my aunt's stove hums a drum-pot of soup, an incantation

older than the New World, a pre-Columbian stock bubbling at lips
lately made. In Mesoamerican myth, man was created

three times. The mud of earth made man mute and motionless;
wood turned him forgetful and soulless. Only the pliant

dough of two types of cornmeal could shape the knots and joints,
the new formed limbs of this human flesh.
from the book INLAND EMPIRE / Noemi Press
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“Hominy” is, at least in part, about the ways that both history and eating are processes of change that orbit the body. This interface of the past and food becomes constitutive of people and culture. It draws on my Mexican-American heritage, the hybridity of identity, and the ways these complexities have touch points across so many artifacts of daily life.  

Leah Huizar on "Hominy"
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