Who poisoned the food?
is it coming
from me or them?
the smell wafts towards me
warm and sentimental
seemingly a feast but
but
bringing me back
100 years ago
to when the world was a darker place
to when
i was small
and alone
even around them

A century of growth
and still the smallest shift
and this mountain threatens to crumble
like the crust on this pie
like the scenery around us
perilous and beautiful
twisting
contorting
the peaks in the distance
as inviting as they are cold and brittle.

Should I tell them?
About this poison.
or just let it sink in
slowly
darkening these memories
until they look just like
the faded photographs in my mind.