Weir, Mississippi, 1984
Great and Grand-mother of all
rooted things waits on the family porch.
We make our way back to her beginnings.
Six daughters gather space and time
in a small kitchen.
Recipes as old as the cauldron
and aprons wrap around these daughters;
keepers of cast iron and collective
Lard sizzles a sermon from the stove,
frying uncle’s morning catch
into gold-plated, cornmeal catfish.
Biscuits bigger than a grown man’s fist
center the Chantilly laced table of yams,
black eyed peas over rice and pineapple,
pointing upside down cake.
The fields, soaked with breeze and sun,
move across my legs like Sara’s hands.
Chartreuse colored waters, hide and seek
in watermelon patches, dim my ache for Chicago.
Peach and pear ornaments
hang from Sara’s trees. Jelly jars tinted
with homemade whiskey,
guitar stringing uncles who never left
the porch, still dream of being famous
Toothpick, tipped hats and sunset
linger as four generations come from
four corners to eat, pray, fuss and laugh
themselves into stories of a kinfolk,
at a country soiree, down in the delta.
|Jul 29, 2014||Test|
|May 11, 2006||Skills||Jonathan Aaron|
|Aug 27, 2010||Renewal [Excerpt]||Chris Abani|
|Dec 23, 2011||The Woods in Concord||Seth Abramson|
|May 10, 2014||Apostate||Léonie Adams|
|Mar 22, 2011||Before||Carl Adamshick|
|Jul 10, 2013||Loss||Carl Adamshick|
|Jan 01, 2014||New years' morning||Carl Adamshick|
|Sep 03, 2013||Wine Tasting||Kim Addonizio|
|Jan 05, 2011||My Heart||Kim Addonizio|