A Hillsborough Community College Student Publication since 1978.
By Richard Cantu
Standing in my ripe strawberry dress, as
we got ready for church, mom frantically
brushing my hair would say,
“Kisses are shortbread cookies, dipped
in raw honey.”
While grandma would squeak, from the
rickety rocking chair,
“Absolutely not, kisses are chocolate
covered sour cherries.”
My daddy would bellow with a can of
“Hugs are blueberry pies. Tart at the
start, with a warming embrace, and sweet
once you realize you’re done.”
Grandpa would let out a snicker. His
voice sickening sweet as red velvet.
“Hugs are popcorn balls.
Held together with molasses.”
From the back pew in church, sister
leaning in would spout.
“God is made of grape juice and bread.”
Brother groaned loudly, twisting around
“God is ambrosia and angel food cake.”
While I find their words savory and
satisfying to devour. I question their
flavors, and their level of taste.
Because kisses are salsa and chips,
that mom and dad make fresh at home
Hugs are pancakes drenched in maple
syrup made on cool April mornings with
grandpa and grandma, as brother and
sister sleep in their beds.
God is toasted ravioli that we eat every
Sunday from the soup kitchen at church.