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The Tortilla Tree____________________________________by Bert Rock (2019)

A Story for Simon

Simon lives in Arizona. One night at the dinner table, when he was four, Simon ate tacos and burritos with his mother, father and their friend Bert.

“Where do tortillas come from?” Simon asked.

“A tree,” Bert said.

“No they don’t!” Simon laughed.

“It’s true,” Bert said. “It’s way out past the Superstition Mountains. The Superstition Mountains are a place where everybody throws salt over their shoulders, nobody owns a ladder and all the black cats have to wear white coats.”

“Where’s the tree?” Simon’s mom asked.

“Out past Fish Creek,” Simon’s dad said.

Simon knew that Fish Creek was the favorite family hike and he couldn’t wait to go on one there soon. He also remembered that in Fish Creek, there are no fish, which made the name silly.

“That’s right,” Bert said. “The tree goes way, way, way up and almost reaches the clouds,” he used his arms to indicate how high it was. “On all the branches of the tree there are little balls of flour and when they’re ripe, they fall all the way down and hit the rocks and splat!”

“That’s how they get flat,” Simon’s dad said.

“And that’s where they name, ‘Tortilla Flat,’ comes from,” Simon’s mom said.

“That’s right!” Bert said. “The balls of flour flatten when they hit the rocks and then they get warm from the sun. Then, when they’re ready, someone who lives in Tortilla Flat comes out and flips them with a spatula the size of a snow shovel.”

“And that’s where tortillas come from,” said Simon’s mom.  

Simon looked at his mom, his dad and then Bert and they all nodded with a laugh. Simon giggled and took a bite out of his burrito. It tasted even better than it had before.  

The Tortilla Tree, posted May 23, 2019

posted May 12, 2019

Japanese Haikus ___ by Bert Rock (2006)

I wish I could write

     Japanese calligraphy

on daisy petals.

Thick black characters

    on effulgent orange like

Samurai poets

     chanting some ancient haiku,

Standing around fire

courage for the sword.  

The petals I would

     wrap tight around raspberries,

red like wet rubies,

Then place them in your

     mouth with young words and a kiss,

bless the Samurai.

I tell them go down

     find the Anger I gave her,

kill it, with Beauty.