Sugared and Spiced

Once upon a time, in a wintery, cedar-shingled home seven miles north, I watched you bake gingerbread buddies with Grammy to take home in the Currier & Ives tin specially reserved for that time of year. Brushing your glistening, oval face with the back of your tiny hand, flour powdered your cheek lightly. As pale as it colored you, I could still see your skin flushed peppermint pink with excitement to first glimpse your round-faced buddy as he emerged from the cherry-wood cabinet to greet you yet another year.


Grammy, wearing her festive holly and ivy cardigan, chuckled as you spun him around three times to find just the proper placement for his face that smiled good cheer at you. When your still-sticky-with-dough fingers separated the sugar-laden mitten from his arm, Grammy assured you with an easy wave that he wouldn’t be in need of it in the oven—it was toasty enough inside. I noticed a dash of nutmeg in her silver hair, streaking golden in the warm light that peered through the entryway to watch curiously from the fireplace aglow. I remembered how she loved cinnamon sticks in her mug of pressed apple cider, heated in a kettle instead of a saucepan on the pot-belly stove that peeled where a belly button might nestle.


Grammy passed you the cranberry-red spatula — the one with the knick in the handle, used only for baking.


You held it delicately in your fingers as though you were holding a snowflake between their tips. Lovingly, you lifted “Mr. G” above your head and slid him — his belly portly from butter — onto the crisp, white parchment awaiting his arrival. Eyes level with his feet, you lingered at his toes while standing on your own. Your amber eyes sparkled like the glitter on your kindergarten creation hanging on the refrigerator door, steadfastly held by a magnet that framed your grinning, daisy-painted cheeks at your school’s Spring carnival that year. You had invited your “best friend” to be your guest. Grammy wouldn’t have missed it for the world.


Grampy peeked around the corner as giggles and spice and everything nice wafted through the kitchen. Holding you in his arms, you both surveyed the tidy village populating the corner of his kitchen. He admired handsomely-tanned faces before abducting and tucking one into his blue flannel pocket that had been brushed soft by holidays past. He hummed softly on his way back to his den, where jolly carolers huddled in his radio jauntily welcomed his return.


Later, you kissed Grammy goodbye with lips rosy from red sprinkles. Clutching the tin lidded with snow-dusted Morgan horses wearing auburn coats — it was always your favorite — you waved at Grammy from your own fanciful “sled” in the driveway. Pressed against a glowing pane, she waved back, already saddened by your absence. Once home, you climbed out without delay, your treasured, golden goodies still pressed tightly against your chest. I spied a few uncooperative crumbs in the backseat, and I smiled at your silent stealth.


You waited on the doorstep, hushed by falling snow. Currier & Ives, if able, would have lithographed you in the doorframe with ornate snowflakes adorning your auburn mane, eager to get inside to telephone your best friend

and assure her that you had arrived safely at home with your new buddies, sugared and spiced, and all things that were nice.


Born and adopted in Luxembourg, Kelly Sargent grew up with a deaf twin sister in Europe and the United States. Her articles, essays, artwork, and poetry have been published in numerous magazines. She also wrote for a national newspaper for the Deaf. Her most recent 2021 poems will appear in Kingfisher Journal, The Purpled Nail, Stone Poetry Journal, Poetic Sun, Wingless Dreamer, and Modern Haiku. Her artwork in 2021, including a current Best of the Net nominee, was featured in the U.S. and abroad in Awakened Voices, The Bookends Review, Prometheus Dreaming, and Beyond Words. She currently volunteers as a reviewer for an organization dedicated to showcasing works by sexual violence survivors. Residing in picturesque Vermont, she enjoys writing poems and haiku inspired by each season.

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