La Llorona considers the state of tortillas.(Poem)(Brief article)

 
She knows they sell them in neat packages 
Cellophaned and counted. 
 
They come in whole wheat, yellow, or white corn, 
Even red tinted and crisp ready for tostadas or chalupas 
Too easy it seems to her for the truth to be told 
 
She also knows machines can never render 
A product true 
 
If flour ... one misses 
The familiar smell of dough cooking on the comal 
The puffing up one must, simply must, pat down 
To hear the pooof of air escaping 
The taste-hot ...