Making Fudge the Old-Fashioned Way

   by Wilda Morris

I remember the sparkle of sugar and salt,
the mystery of white crystals becoming one

with dark cocoa. The magical gloss 
created when we added liquid.

The bubbling sauce, a deep rich brown
and the chocolaty smell filling the kitchen.

I remember how we dropped little dabs 
into cold water, scooped them 

with two fingers into our mouths, 
testing and tasting to see if formed balls. 

I recall the sheen created when we stirred in butter. 
The difficulty of timing. The miracle 

of consolidation as we spread the batter 
across a platter at just the right consistency.

We cut it into square pieces, an excuse 
for eating the rounded edges.

But the best part is the memory of you, Sis, 
and me, as young girls making fudge with Mother.