There's few things better
than a *** of good rice,
for hunger both physical
and emotional.

It's my one good tie
to what my father denied me.
My mother learned it
from my grandmother,
along with a host of other things,
like spam enchiladas;
something my mother never made.

It's simple too.
You gotta crack the rice first,
it's vital to keep it from sticking.
That's what they say,
and I'm not sure it's true
but I do it anyway.
You oil up a ***
or a deepset pan
and just fry it for a bit.
Then it's cracked
and ready for the rest.

The water needs a bit more too,
but just a bit.
Tomatoes and peppers
or maybe just tomatoes.
Chicken broth or stock too,
we always use Knorr.
I like to add some cumin
to give it a warm smell and taste.
Sometimes you don't add the veggies,
but either way it's a bit more.
Just a bit
because really it's just rice.

But it comes out warm
and smelling of home
and things that could've been home.
It tastes pretty good to boot.
It's my mother's rice
that she taught to me,
but my grandma taught it to her
and it could've been hers.
It should've been abuela's.

Could've been, should've been
it's a sign either way.
It's one of my ties,
the biggest one I think
because there's few things better
than a *** of good rice.