Something scrumptious
always simmering
in an old enamel pot.
Looks to have cooked a million meals
one hopes will never stop.
But as delectable to me
as these savory delights,
Nonna and Papa’s home
is a sweet-tooth paradise.
A candy-coated, chocolate-covered,
fantasyland,
with countless confectionaries
ever at hand.
Coffee candy, toffee bits.
Circus peanuts, caramel nips.
Cookie tins with crescents
that melt on my tongue,
leaving powdered-sugar fingerprints
wherever I’ve gone.
In nightstands, TV stands,
and cabinets, wall-to-wall;
in boxes, and pockets,
and purses in the hall.
I scan all the shelves
for a glimmer of color
through crystal candy dishes
in a glass-front cupboard.
On a mirrored table
beside the velvety green couch,
I find a lidded coffer
that has gone untouched.
Chasing my greedy reflection
over the mirrored table top,
I see no misgivings,
as I reach for the box.
Those would come later,
when at the dinner table,
Nonna presses me to eat,
but I simply unable.
Which is simply
not
done.
Dog-eared Stories by anne celano frohna 