The sweet and sour of the yeast comes first

Then the sound of the crack

as your hardened skin breaks

in my hand. I partake,

surround myself in memories of warm laughter and sticky dough in a ceramic bowl in grandma’s kitchen–6,000 feet above sea level

slice some butter and spread it inside you, take a bite and savor

till the bite melts away…

I cup my hands to my mouth, hold my breath, and try to keep the memories from fading.