Peanut M&Ms For My Mother

My mother loves chocolate. Middle class chocolate 89 cents for that little yellow bag. The price is going up. Nothing too fancy for us. For Bob, who raised her well. Who loved Baby Ruth of the proletariat. For his wife, little disks of mint and dark she pours from a white box into the clay cup I made in fourth grade. Please take one more. Stolen chocolate tempts morality in rotting wood cabins that will stand forever. Lessons taught by individually wrapped caramels. He threw his head back and laughed. Please take one more. Chocolate sent a thousand miles. Kosher candy for the secular Jew.

Mom and I take in twos, slip fingers through the small hole ripped in the bag. She hates the blue ones. Too new. No modern chocolate please. We love the brown ones best. And never plain—boring, empty calories. There are rules here. No idle eating for us. As we walk through streets in twos for me—for you. Ours. And we may share we may in fours but we are forever in 2. We will always keep walking in our twos with M&Ms we sneak in to movies, dressing rooms. I’m feeling fat. Two more for me And you. Forever. Bottomless, endless bags of this is what we share.

And that night when it looked like the bag had an end. That night where there was no way to walk. Endless miles away and I was trying to learn how to breathe. Please two for me and two for you. No blues. And no where to go. No 89 cent little yellow bag with the corner ripped off. But 3 dollar bag spilled on table. They had no idea. The browns are best. Handfuls as if I was eating yours too. All I wanted was yours too. Reds than orange. Just like always. Always. Peanut M&Ms hoping for an always. Waiting to be back in twos for me for you. Bottomless bags of me and you. Peanut M&Ms for the next day month year.