They’re always there on the Christmas platter,
Surrounded by polvorones and turrón,
And I avoid them, tell myself Lindt has new flavors,
As if I really care about a coconut truffle,
And pretend the Ferrero Rocher isn’t there,
That I can’t even see it, treat it like poison,
Not entirely sure the taste wouldn’t make me sick.
Last time I had one of those chocolates
I was twenty-three years old and making a point,
I didn’t get sick, I didn’t cry,
I didn’t even throw them away,
But memories are still memories,
Indistinct yet piercing,
And I’m much too sensitive
To leave yesterday behind me.
Memories of going to the grocery store,
A pack of three, perfect for a family with an only child,
And the last time my mom bought them
I told her she couldn’t, because it wasn’t the same,
That she couldn’t just split the third down the middle,
And she didn’t, as long as I could remember, she didn’t.
Ghost of the pasts,
Memories of unity,
Always there at Christmas,
If only I were seven again.