by Jim Farfaglia

It was the night I began to think
maybe you loved me,
all that sugar and all your time
but you wouldn’t quit –
damned if you’d let your son
show up at the school party
emptyhanded, so

on a chair by the stove, I watched
as you showed me
like a patient dad would
how to make
++++++++++ perfect fudge:

++++++++++ stir over a steady heat
++++++++++ drop a dot of hot brownness
++++++++++ in a cup of cold water
++++++++++ watch it curl at the bottom
++++++++++ scoop a finger in
++++++++++ to test it on your tongue

That’s how life could go
when things turned out
just right,

tossing to the trash
our first and second
our third and fourth

ending with something
solid and sweet,
something I could show the world
came from love.