Communion

The recipe isn't hers

Though sometimes they are

But the smells

The actions

Are the same

Kneading dough in the kitchen

Letting it rise

Punching it down

Dusting the counter

Dusting the rolling pin

Working the dough

Rolling it out

The smell of yeast

Of flour

Dough on my hands

The smell of garlic

And olive oil

A kitchen

Warm from baking

Nana is in my kitchen

And I am in hers

Her phantom hands guiding mine.

Smiling, she says

"That's right bella."