2011 Issue - Santa Fe Community College

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Vanilla by Chris Bursk My mother has forgotten my children's names, but not the twenty-eight varieties Howard Johnson's sold, though she never ordered any but vanilla. You'd think that at the age of ninety-six she'd be tired of its medicinal, stubborn sweetness, a flavor you have to ferret out, the way you might with a flower you must smell a long time before finding its fragrance. Tutti Fruiti would better suit a woman so eccentric that when she turned forty, she'd been shot with so much electricity she'd still be trembling when I visited her. I remember how, every time my mother faced hospitalization, we’d run away, though only as far as the ice cream parlor. Fugitives making great escapes ought to feast on something exotic like black raspberry or Neapolitan, but we'd each get a scoop of vanilla, though she'd let me go crazy with jimmies. Once when she was locked up, I hid a bottle of vanilla extract so far back in the spice cabinet no one else could find it, and I could unscrew and smell the cap and sometimes make a rainy day bearable. At eight, I was too old to believe in magic, but young enough to wish for it. Now my mother can't eat anything on her own, except, it turns out, ice cream. For that she demands she hold the spoon herself. She can't put enough syllables together to say my whole name, but her upper gum and lower lip have no trouble with this little pod of consonants and obliging vowels: vanilla, my mother says Santa Fe Literary Review 131
smiling down at her half-full dish with that cunning I've come to expect from the very old. Maybe she lets the ice cream drip on purpose on her blouse, arms, the lap of her skirt. Long after I leave, that illicit, seductive aroma is still with her. She licks the spoon till there's not a single dab of ice cream to be seen and then she licks it again as if she can't trust her eyes now; only her tongue knows there's more, there's got to be more. 132 Santa Fe Literary Review
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Santa Fe Literary Review 2011 S A N
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Santa Fe Literary Review 2011 Facul
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Shell Carol Denson 60 Contemplating
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Rage by William Greenway Blow winds
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All Hallows, Colma Cemetary by Jean
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eborn in a scholar’s mind a half
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Brenden, Mid Tic Albuquerque, NM, O
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ut innocent of intent thighs astrid
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When the Baby Woke by Regina Murray
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The Formula for Wholeness by Kather
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30 Santa Fe Literary Review
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New Mexico 4 I-25 South of Socorro
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And my mother sighed and shook her
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I brightened up as Thwartly’s spe
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“Oh, you can just call me Cara.
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Behind the Wheel by Linda Whittenbe
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In the Company of Men At Outdoorsma
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The Beer Grabbing by Jon Olsen I'm
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After the Founders’ Room Closes,
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Knitting My Shroud by Dallas Huth I
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Desert Kingdom (after the photograp
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Shell by Carol Denson If held tight
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the robes that Shakyamuni wore, the
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Yesterday Sonnet by Michelle Hollan
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2011 Issue - Santa Fe Community College

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