Grandma's recipes

A tiny little book reads

like collecting every piece of the crumb

As birds' rapid eyes

screen for the lost home

 

I researched the book

And had barely found

The sweetest look

between a touch and a mind

 

The parsley grows every year

below the window like a spell

The rain cries every tear

only a chimney can gently tell

 

It was a rainy day

with a full taste of the past memories

And the smell swirled away

in grasses, flowers, and trees