Bitter Sweet

Squares of dark chocolate, wrapped in foil, layered with sea salt.

Take a bite, as it begins to melt passing your lips. Sweet.

Like the sugar canes our tios brought home from the fields.

Rayas de azucar lining the ceramic coffee pots in our abuelos’ hands.

Like the sticky fresh fruits plucked from our community trees,

Lining the bellies of the young babes running in the market square.

Teeth sink in another chocolate square, sliding the sea salt

Onto your tongue, lining the taste buds. Bitter.

Like the tears that stream down our tias’ faces

Primos come home, Missing limbs from the fields.

Sting of raw hands reaching into a half empty pocket.

Jingling 50 pesos exchanged for a 12 plus hour shift.

Red velvet cakes, stained with the crimson blood split

From swinging machetes on the job.

Chopping away at the souls of the diligent.

Sipping on that sweet Abuelita Chocolate?

Pippin’ hot primo, let’s spill the tea.

Crafted with the bloodied hands of Nestle.

You want to enjoy dessert, an edible delicacy.

Sugar, Cocoa, and everything in between.

Product demand for consumption.

Industries bringing pain to vulnerable communities.

Loved ones slaving in factories, dying in fields.

Brothers, aunts, cousins, friends.

Withering raisins, beaten down from the blistering sun.

Lindt and Hersheys. Godiva and Ghirardelli.

Names more valuable than Jose or Rosa?

Carlos or Lupita? Juanita or Luis?

Not to me. They rest in power,

When they should be living in piece.

So next time you take a bite of that rich, sweet chocolate,

Remember the correct names and know their story.

Sueitko Zamorano-Chavez