Voices on the Wind Voices from Teen Years
Ice Cream by David Chorlton Dinnerís first course is the waiting. Nothing hurries Sunday. Ready at two means three. The clock stares through its single eye back to rationing. The roast matures in kitchen standard time while mother responds to When will it be ready? with some ;language she learned in her new country when a neighbor spat at her in English. Tasting from a wooden spoon she nears countdown while I wait like a sprinter on starting blocks to go out for the ice cream. Neapolitan. Strawberry, vanilla and chocolate. One flavor is never enough and we eat too fast for it to melt.