It always happens this way—
you are frying tortillas that won’t brown quick enough so
you jab the gas clockwise until the underside of breakfast is as
black as the cast iron it will die in.

There is a kind of dance the kitchen teaches you,
waiting for the oil to shimmer before slipping
the tortillas in.

To let them puff up like an inhale before turning,
to listen, look, and wait.

It takes time to build an even heat.