I want comida

We read English and Spanish versions of “Good Hotdogs,” a very Chicago poem by Chicago-born writer, Sandra Cisneros. We reflected on favorite special foods and the sense-memories of eating them.

Room 322

<b>Red Tamales
Jennifer L.

Getting ready to
Go to a Mexican
I can’t wait to eat
Some red chicken
We sit down and pass
Around food for
The tamales are
Getting passed out
With white cream
I take three tamales
And grab a fork
And peel

Rachel V.

Little pieces
Of white rice
Sometimes sticky
Sometimes not
We’d eat it
Almost every day
Put in a bowl
No specific taste

Sopa fria
Shamadhi R.

As soon as I wake up
I smell something delicious
Sopa fria
It has big cubes of ham
I blow the candles
Bite the cake
But suddenly don’t
Want cake but
Sopa fria
First birthday
With sopa fria


Room 320

Mi T.

We used to make this special food
These little squares
Made of dough.
We would fill the squares with meat.
But not just meat.
There used to be chives and shrimp too.
Exactly in the middle.
It was like origami.
A fold in half.
Bring the wings to the center.
Dip the tip in egg
To keep it from breaking.
We watch it on the special pot.
Watching it to be steamed.
There once was dumpling sauce.
A little dip in
And that was how the special dumplings were made.

Chicken Alfredo Pizza
Kathryn R.

We’d run to
the restaurant
without our parents
when it’s ready
sizzling hot
then she puts it in front
of me I talk to it
the light pointing at it
it’s a miracle right
when I taste the
melting cheese dripping or
the delicious chicken
so wonderful full of
love and cheese

When I am done
I think about it and
I tell my sister, When
are we coming back?

Awesome Instant Soup with Ketchup
Jennifer M.

Thirty seconds I run to the microwave
open run to table sit down with Abuela
I forgot two ice cubes
there’s something missing still
I almost forgot KETCHUP!
I run to the fridge
but find a little left
run to buy ketchup
there is a BIG ketchup.
I buy it and sprint
to Grandma’s house
the soup is still hot
I put a lot of ketchup and
put a little bit of hot sauce in
her soup and Grandma says,
¡Tú estás una güera!


Room 314

Once More
Javier H.

I remember I ran to school
I’d walk one block to the corner store
I’d see a bag of chips
all red crunchy and delicious
I’d smell all the way from school
I’d eat slowly and slowly
one by one at a time
once I finished them
I’d wait until the next day
and buy one more.

Chicken Wings
Samantha N.

Sixteen dollars for ten chicken wings,
sometimes I eat them for dinner.
Very spicy with seeds on them.
They have the best meat on them.
I love to eat them with lemonade.
They come with bread that’s so small it makes me feel like a giant.

I always ask my mom if we can go there.
I don’t really like the view but it’s okay when I
have my cheese fries right by me.
The steam and those little smokes that come out
all the time because they’re fresh and ready.

I sit down while my mom gets the ketchup ready
and gets the salt.
My mom always gets a gyro buy I hate those so
I never ask for one. She says I’m very picky but
I tell her to take that back.

When we leave I’m so full that I go home
and do my homework and go to sleep.
This is my most favorite thing in the world
to eat, chicken wings.

Ramen Noodles
Laurel D.

Why are we in the hospital?
Abuelo is really sick.
I’m hungry.
We’ve been here all day.
It’s okay, mi hija.
Yo quiero comida, Abuelito.
No hay nada bueno aquí.
Mira esto, Abuelito.
¿Tú quieres ramen noodles?
Sí, por favor, Abuelito.
¿Donde está la microondas?
Yo creo está allá.
Cuidado, es muy caliente.
¡Ay, qué lastima!

They were the best ramen noodles ever.
The salty water swished around in my mouth.

Nos vemos, Abuelito.
Adiós, mi chula.

A week passed.
That was the last meal Abuelito made.
He died. But the last meal he made was for me.



“Writing poetry makes me feel like I can see myself, like I can see my reflection, but not in a mirror, in the world. I write and I know I can be reflected.”
-Oscar S.

“Writing poetry makes me feel free.”
-Buenda D.

“Writing poetry is like your best friend.”
-Jessica M.