Breia Gore
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Candy Keeps An Island Alive
Every December, my uncle pops rice paper candies in my palm. They barely survive the voyage to mouth. I can’t explain how the heat from my supplicate hands boil its sugary coat. When it gets to my mouth, lingers like an island, saliva aquamarine, pacific ocean tongue. Sucks out the gummy bits. They cross miles and miles for me to digest,…