the thusfar/lifecycle of the southwestern burrito

you get taken out of the thusfar when you die

and are brought back when you are reborn.

flour and water are mixed and flattened

and briefly brought to flame and tortilla life

reborn how?

your birthday comes and a You comes to memory.

and the tortilla encases spiced meat and green chilies

and a mix of cheeses

a poem you wrote long ago is reread

and the reader hears your voice, thinks your thoughts.

and is plated with salsa and sour cream

and a cooling mix of shredlettuce and tomato dice

you will be dreamt. a cousin will mention you,

sounding like you. there are photo-traces of you.

and the diner carefully puts salsa on every bite,

sour cream on some, and when the burrito is gone

it becomes an indivisible part

of the diner’s thusfar.