The famous batch of taffy flooded
by an ocean swell in Atlantic City
created the paradoxically salty confection.
This is the origin story—at least
the one from Food Network.
I found my dad’s saltwater taffy stash
when I was packing his room
and I put some on his altar
—I had to eat it eventually
—in his honour.
After a few years of grief swilling,
on a New Year’s Eve bath,
my daughter delivered a warm handful
of saltwater taffy where I untwisted,
where paint glistened with misty sheen
and bossa nova beats syncopated my chewing.
Happily mediating on brine and candy,
I would have been half drunk by then.
Legs blushed lobster red like the raspberry taffy
I mistook for malt chocolate under dimmer on the fritz.
I bathed in the mix of light and dark
like salty sweet in my mouth.
I soaked my salt away,
creating new origin stories for myself.
Jessica Lee McMillan ©
Published in Blank Spaces Magazine, December 2021