Sonho de Creme
by Timothy Reed
the first thing is the sugar,
powdered and forward-facing
reminding me of the church
parking lot, waiting for my dad
to finish talking to his friends.
If only I had known then
how quickly powdered sugar dissolves.
a rich fluffy canvas
like that house on San Luis,
plain but familiar, warm.
the knowledge comes late
that it could have
just as easily been
bitter, sour, or burnt.
Finally, a sweet vanilla cream —
not oversweet. The reality of
a Crayola sunset in lieu
glass-slipper promises, false.
Something true and unspeakable
in the pleasure of that flavor
put in layaway by my 5-year-old self
to be rediscovered here
in the least-likely of places.
Desserts are more difficult
to recognize now.
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