Besides something scrumptious simmering on the stovetop
in an old, enameled, cast iron pan
that looks as if it has cooked a million meals
and I hope will cook a million more,
being at Nonnie’s is a sweet-tooth’s paradise.
A candy-coated, chocolate-covered, land of plenty.
Shelf after shelf of saccharine delights.
Coffee candy, toffee bits.
Circus peanuts, caramel nips.
Oooy-gooey turtles in a box of white and gold.
Tin boxes crammed with powdery, crescent cookies that melt in my mouth.
And leave telltale, powdered-sugar fingerprints everywhere.
A wealth of sweet treasures easily discovered
in bedside tables and T.V. cabinets,
atop plush, well-vacuumed, wall-to-wall;
in pockets and purses, and small tin boxes
filled with tiny, hard, fruit-shaped candies.
Creamy, sweet, tart perfection.
Hopped up on sugar, I scavenge for more.
Scanning curio shelves for a glimmer of wrappers
through crystal candy dishes in glass cabinets.
Climbing up on the long, deep, velvety sofa,
reaching for the lid of the porcelain box on the mirror-topped table,
I follow my greedy reflection in the mottled gold glass.
Seeing no misgivings for more than my fill of butterscotch and Bulls-Eyes.