I thought I had outgrown trick-or-treating,
but a childish longing stirred my stomach
when, on the microwave, a small Kit Kat
caught my eye—it’s needless to say chocolate
is a luxury most girls would never
reminisce while tearing it open,
yet I think it’s incredible how this
fun-sized candy appeared as grand as a
time machine hurtling into long ago.

I remember when I’d cling to your shirt
like a baby koala and we’d watch
our nighttime cartoons—you’d pull out something
from your stash: a red-wrappered delight, a
cerise tint just above your fingernails,
perhaps the same color as the bathrobe
you’d don the next morning. You’d break off a
piece for yourself and hand the other smooth,
delectable fraction to yours truly.

I’d beg for another—though playfully
reluctant, you were always generous.
I often wonder if you wanted me
to take that Kit Kat as your memory
or rather to preserve your sweetness—of
course, coincidences drop in before us,
but a mother’s comfort seems to dwell in
the greatest and the least of things. I just
thank you for this liking to Kit Kats, Mom.