Tortilla Jesus
His face appeared, the texture of ground corn, staring to his left, the crown of thorns, his black, wooly hair, and all Maria Rubio had done was to pray every day since she was ten, walk on her knees to the altar each week, bless her family, give thanks. Then between her hands she had pressed the corn paste flat in the skillet and when she flipped it […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 