Pt. 2: Sweet Disappointment

By Tara Gira

I desire a blondie square-

Sparsely drizzled with caramel.

More collecting in one crevice than in the others,

And burnt flakes scarped from the bottom of the pan.

They’re still sweet- 

Even if they take a curled fist to the tastebuds,

Rather than a velvety caress.

I want it all.

Sprinkled with a dash of salt −

Hard Himalayan. 

Again,

It’s so simple.

So specifically simple. 

The blondie I want,

Is a corner piece.

With rounded edges−

Two sides molded by the tin it rose in,

And the other half carved out with a knife. 

A dull knife. 

Which then pierces the pastry-

Painfully tearing it free

Millimeter

By

Millimeter. 

Only after an hour,

Is it torn from the rest,

But with undeniable precision.

And then it’s left to sit on the kitchen counter

On a lonely plate,

And forgotten

For a day or two. 

So the air could harden it,

Yet, miraculously, 

It retains its soft and deeply sweet, butterscotch center. 

That’s just the dessert I want-

But it’s nowhere to be found.

And the sickly-sweet sight of lined shelves,

Behind the hand-print riddled, glass display,

Becomes the most disappointing confectionary spectacle

In the whole world.

And its utter absence simply isn’t fair. 

This shop becomes a plate.

Designed and coloured with pieces of my childish nostalgia:

Maples, 

Sours,

And week-lasting jaw breakers. 

But with none of the joy.

By Tara Gira