Abuelita’s Kitchen

Lorraine Olaya

breathes life
through wallpaper peeled
like onion skin and scent
of tangy peppers, bits of chopped fire.

kisses
sizzle in the air.
pan full of bubbles, stirred
with care, echoes rain on window panes

whispers
across tablecloth:
ask for a taste of brown
gems, cedar wood on the tongue.

don’t touch
the ground found beneath
polished bones of wood. hold
tight to blankets of gravity.

please eat
what is on your plate.
arroz y frijoles, arepa con queso,
tostados crumble to grains of sand.

I’ll help.
plates stacked like books and
pots marbled with love and
forks drenched in heritage.

come close
the hopscotch tile is
under the sink. find chalk
sugar dusted on fingers.

Back soon.
curtains sway with wind
chimes twinkling hues of blue
sky stretches high above bouncing pigtails

until sun
is melted butter on the side
walk chalk erased by time,
whose years feed warped memory.