On family vacations, my mother had us wake up early
for the complimentary continental breakfast,
a name so fancy I imagined it was the kind of thing
that Eloise might eat in her New York Plaza hotel.

I remember taking my place in line along the buffet bar,
and watching as guests slid open the covers
of silver serving dishes,
revealing things like brown sausages,
sheets of yellow scrambled eggs, and strips of bacon.

Beneath these dishes, blue flames kept the food warm,
the eggs fluffy, and the bacon crisp.
I scoured the pastry bin and found a blueberry muffin
with chunks of sugar so big they shone like crystals.

It was at one of these breakfasts that I tried my first croissant.
My mother showed me how to rip it open
like a present, revealing its flaky insides.

I followed suit, and found I loved the taste,
though the slightly oily outer crust stuck to my fingers
and made the white paper napkins turn translucent.

When we were almost done, my mother
glanced around the lobby, told me to keep watch
while she wrapped three croissants with napkins,
lining them across the bottom of her purse.

Caitlin O’Halloran is a biracial Filipino-American poet living in Rochester, New York. She has a Bachelor of Arts from Boston University in Philosophy and History. Her work has been published in Vast Chasm Magazine, The Basilisk Tree, and Remington Review.