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"Aisle Three" by Karen Grose



I plod down the street to the corner

a walker as my guide

careful to navigate the cracks on the sidewalk, heat bouncing off the

pavement.

Inside the store sweat drips down my back and my chest in rivers

I pass by aisle one and two

sharp right

tugging open the glass door at the end of aisle three I stick my head in the freezer.


I suck it all in,

chest tightening

exhale, small misty clouds

the air is heavy and dense, cooling the heat on my cheeks

towers of frost-covered boxes, glassy crystals line the metal shelves

underneath.


Ice cream,

sandwiched between cookies

floating on root-beer

with cake topped with browned meringue.

creaminess coats the inside of my mouth,

no rules, no restrictions

no shame

numb tongue, dancing on my tastebuds.


My mood soars

Closing my eyes, brain-inducing dopamine fuels the fire of

gran’s homemade gelato, dense smooth delight

dad’s sorbet, sweetened with fruit and liqueur

sundaes drowning in chocolate sauce,

Snow cones and slushies, crushed ice with flavoured syrup I created for

my kids, long scattered across the globe now

memories of making friends, courting lovers, family around the table

counting blessings-


Ma’am? the clerk mops his brow, that door’s been open over thirty

seconds


Through the cloudy glass, I agree

but he’s wrong

it’s been unlatched for decades, emotional well-being, flashes of a

lifetime

Still, I smile,

he’s too young to understand

how at my age it’s a slog even to get out

how for people the likes of me?

all we have to grasp onto are

reminders

caches of recollections

freezer therapy




Karen Grose is a writer from Toronto, Canada. Her first novel, The Dime Box, was selected by Amnesty International for its 2021 book club to represent women’s issues. She has recently begun to write poetry. Aisle Three honours elders, the hearts of building family, who in later years strive to keep knowledge and memories alive.

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