Early each morning: she steals Snickers from 
street vendors, Coca-Cola from her prep 
school’s kitchen. Surrounded at the market 
by bacalao, trucha on ice, whole ducks

and rabbits, she picks the biggest mussels 
for no occasion. Mothers carry bushels past 
her: hoards of food she’d never carry 
every day. Puff pastry will enclose chanterelles

pulled from mountain fields… 
                                               Jump13 harvests: 
men peruse the spread of tapas in her restaurant, 
glass cases. 

                  Wedges of chorizo, cornichón pickle-
sliced crosswise, pearl onion –
                                                skewered bottom

to top. Weekends with working men 
in dance clubs: drinking San Miguel. Creamed 
blue cheese with brandy canapés. Nimble fingers
flip toothpicks on the floor. She remembers

every order. 
                   Walking to her table: she clutches 
a water glass full of Andalucian sherry, 
a plate of morcilla, 
                             calves’ liver, 
                                                 fried brains –
sacrifices from the local slaughterhouse.