General consensus in our home
was that candy or soda could kill us,
or else rot our constitutions in some
larger, metaphysical sense. Body & soul,
to cite the old wisdom. In protest,
my big sister & I would sneak the stuff
through customs whenever we could:
Swedish Fish & ginger beer, Kit-Kats,
Mary Janes & Malta lining the sides
of each pocket like the contraband
spoils they were, smallest joys, solitary
arms in our war against the invisible
wall our parents built to bar
the world of dreams. Now that
we are older, the mystery is all
but gone. We were poor. Teeth
cost. In the end, it was the same
as any worthwhile piece of ancient lore:
love obscured by law, our clumsy
hands demanding heaven, forgetting
the bounty in our bellies, miracles
our mother made from Jiffy mix
& cans of salmon, all the pain
we never knew we never knew
held there, against our will,
in the citadel of her care.