You would make it once a month, at least when I was still alive.
In the steel pot, sugar would brown and melt, and once, I
reached inside for a taste. The touch
burned me, blistered my fingers, and oh, how you
laughed. Your mockery made me love you.

Now, there is no laughter. Just the quiver
of your lips, smeared with a brash lipstick you don’t like.
Your black wool suit lies abandoned on the floor, a
despondent discarding sure to cause wrinkles like the waves of the sea.
You’ve fallen into old habits, drinking wine like a fish.

My memories fade away, yet still I
recall how your corrosive emotions used to cover
me, loving me the way cavities love tooth enamel. You
were sickeningly sweet, impossible to balance with
my salt. A desperate union, a mingling candied brine. When my

body was found, tangled in an old fishing net,
you lost who you had been sticking to. You’ll drink, you’ll cry, then what?
Find another to love with your saccharine sensibility, dreadful as you are.
But as I disappear forever, you’ll do one last thing for me, won’t you?

Hold the steel pot with your beautiful fingers, one banded
with a gold ring, and make a last batch of caramel for me, my sapid one.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Em Loney is a writer and poet from Chesterton, Indiana and they are currently attending Ball State University with majors in Creative Writing and Public History. Her work has previously appeared in the 2022 issue of The Broken Plate, as well as the Odyssey Creative Works Journal issue of the same year. They are ecstatic to share their writing with readers.

Contents

Caramel

ABOUT THE AUTHOR