The yapping of the puff ball was silenced by an extra cookie black as coal and
just as hard.

Hills of chocolate chip cookies were smoothed by my grandmother’s hands like a
rolling pin.

I added flour and turned the mixer on too high. It all puffed into a cloud raining
white dust on me like snow.

Cookies were plopped down on the non-stick tray. The heat of the kitchen
reminds me of a desert.

The melting smell of chocolate wafted to my seat as I drank hot chocolate.

Warm cookies melted on my tongue burning the roof of my mouth.

I walk into the kitchen and to the fridge. Grab a huge spoon and take a handful
of dough. I eat it fast so I don’t get caught. I go back to the Living room


My grandmother looks at me and says not again. I forgot the cookie dough I
have on my fingers and lips. Yet Again.