Thoughts of Home
In a house amid the trees
A welcoming abode
There are shiny little wrappers
Nestled neatly in a bowl
Caramels, so soft and sweet
A child is sure to grin
While sitting on my nana's lap
I take the flavor in
She sets aside her knitted yarn
And holds on to my hand
She fills my soul with comfort
In the way a grandma can
Everytime I smell sweet caramel
I feel her loving touch
It reminds me of my nana
Whom I miss so much
Trigger Warning: Sensitive Topics Mentioned
-2 cups white sugar
they didn't expect much. they never did. they learned from an early age that they must swallow the word no with pride, no matter how hard it cut down the esophagus. no, they cannot walk at night with their hood up. no, they cannot join us. no, they are not the same. no, they do not belong. and when they read history books, it was as if they could feel their ancestors in that sugarcane plantation. and they would trace the names stained in ink, scrawling them across their mind, remembering each one. and it was as if they could feel the names dissolve into sugar against their palms. and for once someone told them yes, you deserve the world.
-1 cup packed brown sugar
and they would coo to her with sugar's and honey's, each word dripping with desires and unholy things. and when you've been berated with words coated in sugar, you no longer can tell whether those sweet things are truly sweet or mistaken salt. and she chose the latter; holding herself tight in the middle of nightmares, glancing behind her back every chance she gets, clenching fists inside of jean pockets. she closed herself from everyone. no longer does she mistake salt for sugar.
-1 cup corn syrup
and he would douse his tears in syrupy delight. taking two shots of happiness before bed. the prescription said to take one a day, but gosh how his eyes would spill waterfalls and his head would scream. he just wanted it to stop, he just wanted everything to be quiet. and if one shot can work, then two would make the screams stop two times more, right?
-1 cup evaporated milk
and it hurts fae to know that fae doesn't exist. fae was never a he or a her or a them, fae was just a fae. but they tell faer that it isn't real, that fae isn't real. and it hurts faer to be erased, it hurts faer to know that fae does not fit in the box that confines society. fae is fae, and why can't they just let faer be?
-1 pint heavy whipping cream
and zie watches the stars set in milky bliss, dreaming of long ago fantasies and beginnings of endings. zie counts the stars upon zir fingertips, grasping at cassiopeia and the big dipper and orion. and perhaps if zie wished hard enough, zie would be up in the night skies, dancing alongside the stars. but for now, zie is content lying on the grass feeling the breeze sweep over zim, and humming the tune of the stars. and oh, how zie could dream.
-1 cup butter
and gosh does e look beautiful soaked in the rays of a rising sun. e soaks up oranges and yellows and bits of stardust along eir being and e is beautiful. oh how e is beautiful. but what no one sees is e hiding the bruises dusting eir skin. e pulls down eir sleeves a little lower, hiding purple wrists as dark as the night sky. e smiles when with friends, but when e is at home, e cries and burrows eirself in the corner of eir closet. and when e is smiling in the sun, e is sobbing in the moonlight.
-1 1/4 teaspoons vanilla extract
and listen, do you hear that? do you hear the beat of your heart pounding in your chest? dear, you are alive.
Step 1: Grease a 12x15 inch pan.
and slather the truths you hear with lies, because you are human. and humans like to be in control. so pretend to control the one thing that you have no control over, pretend you are in power if that helps to soothe your fragile ego. and perhaps when you're looking Death straight in the eye, you will be able to say that you are in control.
Step 2: In a medium-size pot, combine sugar, brown sugar, corn syrup, evaporated milk, whipping cream, and butter. Monitor the heat of the mixture with a candy thermometer while stirring. When the thermometer reaches 250 degrees F (120 degrees C) remove the pot from the heat.
and when you combine their, her, his, faer, zis, and eir stories, you find yourself knowing only a sliver of a fraction of the world. and you find yourself turning blind eyes to the stories that sing to you in the crevices of reality. tell me, what will you do now?
Step 3: Stir in vanilla. Transfer mixture to the prepared pan and let the mixture cool completely. When cooled cut the Carmel into small squares and wrap them in wax paper for storage.
and dear, i do not know you, and you do not know me. but i know your heart beats on the other side, i know we stare upon the same stars at night. dear, we are alive.
How could I refuse?
His eyes are brown
Dark, deep and warm
with caramel swirls in the sun
They laugh and crinkle at the corners
His head blooms black silk curls
my fingers tangled in his tresses
His wide nose
my own pressed gentley against his
A shy smile plays upon his lips
Rounding and dimpling his soft brown cheeks
His tongue soaked in spiced honey
welcomed me home, once more.
(How could I refuse?)
i call him honey
when he steps into the sun
his skin is golden, and his eyes
are no longer black, instead they’re soft
brown and streams of caramel blend
into them, seamlessly
his words are sweet, as if honey drips off
of his tongue while he speaks
and i can taste it when i kiss him
his heart is honest and understanding
when i lay my head on his chest
i hear the tune of the way that it beats
“for you” he says, and i believe him
he is everything i need and more
and for the first time in my life
i believe this is love
Your mom sent you caramel candies in the mail. They're sitting here on the counter, and I can see the note still attached. Flowery script written onto glittery cardstock.
Happy Holidays, Katherine! Miss you lots. Love you!
I'm not sure if they're out as an invitation or not, but I'm not sure I want to eat one anyway. Sticky, sticky things. Stuck in the teeth.
I'm staring at the caramels, wondering when you'll be back.
The house is quiet without you. Even the clock knows you're gone, because it stopped ticking. I can't hear it.
You left two days ago, your caramels sitting on the counter. Maybe you meant to take them with you. Maybe they were supposed to stay behind, just to prove that you'd be back.
I'm not sure what I'm doing here.
Standing, I take a handful of caramels. I wish they reminded me of you, but they don't. Your hair is too light, your eyes too dark. They don't look like anything.
All I can think about when I look at them is a toothache.
I don't think you meant to leave your caramels here.
I think you meant to leave me here.
And it worked, because I'm sitting here with a fistful of caramels, wondering if you're ever coming back.