Norma cooked cinnamon toast
the first time I tasted it.
It in my hands, me in the wooden chair
at the kitchen table.
A blend of familiar and not.
Toast with zing, cut diagonally
sugar and cinnamon-candy
for breakfast.
With milk: warm, buttery, sparkly, cinnamon
tasted better than the red
and blue wooden sticks chewed from
my tinker toys.
Woody, a Christmas cookie sparkle,
slightly bitter.
Reddish-brown, the crayon
my dad called brick.
Toast didn’t taste like crayon.
Sugar on my face,
stung when Norma struck it off.
Cold milk. Good toast. Bubbles blown,
Norma laughed instead of getting mad
at me.
Published in Silver Birch Press, October 2022
Photo: Cinnamon Toast by Joshua Resnick
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Senses can be strong reminders. In this case, my Aunt Norma gave me my first taste of cinnamon toast. She is now 91, and we both share this happy memory of a perfect after-nap experience.
