The paper is old and wrinkled
Tapered along the edges like a fairy’s carpet
Billowing outward, flowering, creases unfolding in waves.
Rising off the words is the scent of brown sugar, old parchment dancing on the kitchen island.

It remains vibrant in every house it travels through
Crunched into loving pockets,
Pocketing
The whispers of eager tongue
Secrets of the newborn generation
Time tests its durability
But memory is stronger

This recipe proudly crossed the border,
Lit up with the promise of new opportunity
It glistened in the palm of Abuela’s hand as she stepped into the next life
But it remembers

As my mother and I stick bananas in the blender, laughing at the cursive that urges
Una taza y media de azúcar,
—O una taza, written discouragingly in parentheses, we melt at the charming voice that
Rises from the paper
And survives another day
In our hands, as we mix the butter into the bowl and pull out the bread pan
I know it’s her warmth that spreads through me comfortingly
The soft echo of her giggle I hear when I fold my hands together at the dinner table
Her heart that I hold in mine when I unfurl the words she wrote,
Press them to my lips like gumdrops,
And watch them come to life