If I Could Taste Memories

If I could taste memories, I’d like them all sweet,

like favourite penny-candy or home-baked date treats.

If I could taste memories, I’d love them so snug,

like a warm cup of chocolate, steamed in a mug.

They’d be bright Christmas mornings, toys under the tree.

and a brand-new puppy for my brothers and me.

They’d be playing with cousins, and biking down hills.

They’d be first teenage kisses, and amusement park thrills.

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If I could taste memories, I’d want them to be,

as sweet as those cookies that Mom baked for me.

But truth is that sometimes, those memories are tart,

like a fresh stick of rhubarb picked from the yard.

Not sunshine and roses, as the old saying goes,

but bee stings and tears, scraped knees and stubbed toes.

Sometimes they taste sour, like breakups and fights.

Sometimes they are sickness, and long lonely nights.

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If I could taste memories, for reality’s sake,

those memories would be Nan's bakeapple cheesecake.

They'd be rich, they'd be creamy, a sweet slice of bliss,

with a tart berry topping that puckered my lips.

They’d be sing-alongs with daddy, in rhythm and rhyme.

Then kisses goodnight, for the very last time.

They’d be playtimes with brothers, and short time-outs too.

They’d be new Easter dresses, and holes in my shoes.

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If I could taste memories, for better or worse,

I’d want sweet and tangy, with honesty first.

For all of those memories, whatever they be,

belong to that young girl who grew to be me.