THE LEMON CURD RECIPE

The Lemon Curd Recipe

The years began to blur away,

Like photographs left in the sun,

Names and faces drifted softly,

One by one by one.

Questions echoed through the house,

Places lost to time,

Stories she'd once told by heart

Slipped away from rhyme.

Yet somehow when she looked at me,

My name would still remain,

A tiny light that flickered on

Through all the fog and rain.

"Hello, Hannah," she'd always say,

A smile upon her face,

As if the world had fallen apart

But left that one safe place.

And in the kitchen, just like magic,

Her hands still knew the way,

The lemon curd she'd made for years

As bright as yesterday.

No written notes, no measuring cups,

No searching for a clue,

The recipe lived within her heart,

And every step she knew.

How strange that memories disappear,

Yet some refuse to part,

For love is not just stored within

The mind, but in the heart.

So when I taste sweet lemon curd,

I think of her and smile,

For even when dementia came,

She stayed herself awhile.

She lost so many precious things,

More than words can say,

But she remembered who I was,

And how to stir sunshine from lemons

Until the end of day.