Charlotte Russe
To the memories of my mom, Millicent Kant (1928-2014) and my grandmother, Helen Glaser (1900-1988)
"You have to eat
the cake," my grandma
said, her version of
stern, which was not stern
by most standards
of the stern-loving world.
"I will," my mom
would promise,
her beautiful hazel eyes
preening and glowing
as they embraced
the prospect
of a Charlotte Russe
with its deeply alluring
whipped cream top
and its mostly embarrassing
thin layer of cake underneath
Which she wouldn't finish anyway
ever
and my grandma would grumble
and finish it eventually
and the next time she would say
to my mom yet again:
"You have to eat the cake."
And my mom would promise,
her eyes bright with minor
treachery
as they embraced the window
of the bakery
on Lydig Avenue
and the dancing food heaven of whipped cream
therein
