My husband drives fourteen hours
to explore this Mission,
oldest in Texas,
enduring two centuries:
repaired, relocated, even replaced –
victim of Rio Grande floods.
Next door, at the Tiwa Cultural Center
He watches brightly feathered dancers
leaping high, soaring in flight,
and women baking bread
in traditional adobe ovens.
Breaking the coarse-textured bread,
he brushes butter into its crannies,
salivates, eager to sample fabled Tigua chili.
Across a spicy and pungent bowl,
astonished eyes catch mine:
It tastes just like yours!
Hey, I respond, revealing myself
to be a transplant, not a True-Texan:
It’s chili: beef, onion, chiles . . .
