A Stitch in Thyme

[Verse 1]
Abuela’s script, a faint coffee stain,
Holds secrets my clumsy hands try to attain.
The pages now brittle, a soft, worn patina,
A memory hewn, a fragrant garden's schema.
The ink, a delicate warp, where she wrote her soft plea,
For the perfect sweetness I've yet to set free.

[Chorus]
Oh, this recipe, a woven riddle,
Always a missing thread in the middle.
A pattern of love, a family weave,
More than just taste, I believe.

[Verse 2]
I measure the flour, like she said to do,
Then add the panela, a golden, sweet dew.
But where is the 'feeling,' the 'just enough' sigh?
The subtle violence of neglect, as the years floated by.
A phantom 'duende,' a whispered omission,
A ghost in the kitchen, defying submission.

[Bridge]
I see a sliver of light through the tear in the book,
A faint pencil mark, if I just take a look.
Did she leave a stitch unpulled, a loose thread untold?
Reflected in her knowing stories of old.

[Outro]
A missing thread, a woven riddle...
Still searching for its middle.