Any original works by Hispanic members of the Rice community can be included here such as paintings, sculpture, photography, poetry, etc. Copyright is retained by the respective artists.

 

Poetry

Elisa Garza, Lovett '91

This is How You Cook Rice You watch and do. When you are tall enough, about nine years old, you stir and stir to keep the grains from burning. Your mamá has already tossed long grained arroz into a sartén with the right amount of oil, which you will learn to gauge. At twelve, your stir and watch, let her know when the grains are castaño, toasted brown, like apple seeds. She will add cebolla and green bell pepper she chopped into rectangles the size of her fingernails. You can add the water. You know how much, as you know how much arroz and oil, but you let her watch. In a few years, she still watches you chop, because she thinks you are not ready. By twenty-one, you have watched enough. While Abuela supervises, you cook rice for twenty. She makes you chop cebolla and pepper smaller, her arthritic hands too old for the knife. You stir to avoid further browning, while she smashes ajo in the molcajete con comino seeds. Un poquito agua, to loosen the mash from the molcajete, and you pour it in as sharp smelling steam billows up like church incense. Then the tomate, not too much, y la agua, sal, y pimienta before the lid. Afterwards, pleased with your fluffy grains tinted pale naranja, not sticky or burned, Abuela says, Now you can get married. © 2001 Elisa Garza This poem originally appeared in the chapbook Familia.

Leira Moreno, Jones '03

Untitled I long for renewal, to be reinstituted into those waters that i was born into, those waters that submerged me into purity and trapped me until i had the urge to escape. I long for acceptance, not from mortals whose worthy is untold and unseen, whose sincerity is disputed, and whose smiles are superficial, but from Him, whose face produces splendor, whose eyes are unmocking, merciful despite my uncleanliness and whose approval is all I need. I desire beauty, not the distorted beauty, covered with impure substances, surreal commodities, and stolen satistactions, but the unpalpable beauty that surpasses all human understanding, that brings brightness unto the shadiest of souls, that produces authentic smiles and twinkling eyes despite the dark world that so thoughtfully attempts to encage us, with its impurities and undeserved acceptance. I yearn for love, to love and be loved by that genuine soul, who will respect me and care for who I am, who will consider my past, understand my present, and encourage my future. who will love me quietly, embrace me publicly, and support my goals, even if they seem unobtainable. He might seem surreal, but I know he exists, in my mind, in my heart, and somewhere in this world, thinking the same thing I am thinking about him. © 2002 Leira Moreno