By Candy Ray
I am Vanilla. Janetta made me. She is whimsical, so she based me on ice cream. She took me from my source in dust and fluff that gathers under chair legs and fed me through a storm of ice cream symbolism, cones and wafers.
“I dropped YOUR ice-cream,” Janetta joked. “Not your brain. And I bind you to this whirling candy-floss machine.”
I am looking forward to growing up, for I must evolve, as the cornet diminishes through being licked and is reborn as something new. Raspberry ripples go through me and through Janetta, for we are united.