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.