cy mba l s
2 021 : met hod a nd mad nes s
Chocolate on China The screen door swings shut; darkness presses around us. The only light falls from the porch; the sound of my mother’s footsteps comes nearer. Tiny flames alight on powdered sugar like fallen snow but in August. A harmony of voices and laughter silences the usual summer crickets. The silver knife is dragged across the white, rich aroma of chocolate carves its path between shoulders pressed tightly together. Soon the thick slices sit on my grandmother’s blue china. Where the sunsets sink into pine tree tops and the glassy water laps the shore. — Chloe Knerr, XI: poetry
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