The cold splash of whole milk in my mouth,
the creamy tongue-feel of what it is to be fed.

The icy coolness of hose water, the metallic bite of it
as I open the back of my throat and guzzle.

The taste of my grandmother’s fudge, still warm from the double-boiler;
thick dense sponge of chocolate between my teeth.

The crunch of boots on frozen ice-snow; crackle-crunch chill wind,
entombed in layers of coat, vest, snow pants, leg warmers,
ski mask, thermal underwear, scarf, hat, earmuffs,
mittens over gloves of Michigan winter.

My first sip of tea (and every sip of tea I’ve had after)
when the water is so warm—too warm—hurts my tongue but only just,
herbal flower honey sizzle ginger cinnamon chamomile,

Om.