Honest Poem – Sunscreen

It smells like kindergarten.
warmth of a mother,
jubilant laughter as the sun
immerses but never burns.

It feels like melted butter
rubbed onto a frying pan before
hissing batter
snakes its way into a cake.

And you look at the child
reading about gingerbread boys
on that first day
tucked between two parents.

And you wish that they recognized you.

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