I feared I put too much garlic in the beans. And too much pepper into her son, who had already walked those six Arizona desert miles. Too many teeth biting back. I feared my amor was not enough to massage and soften her cracked farm hands. But they held enough desert nights to know how to calm my son at 3 a.m. To show how much caldo to add to the rice. To carry bookbags and stroller up the hill to the school and back down to the river again. To raise them from our Philly stoop en la madrugada and whisper Te quiero to the moon.