Post by Tina (Firefly) on Feb 25, 2009 23:16:16 GMT -5
We could smell her coming-
a ripe bundle of watercress tucked
in her apron pocket. She was as beautiful
as a low-country swamp, dark and thick.
She cooked perfect collards, a sliver
of fatback to season. Dash of Tabasco.
A simmered bowl of Africa, spooned
to innocent children.
Tuesdays she made 'Hoppin' John.'
The crunch of field peas poppin' made
us burst into laughter. We begged to have
our beds moved to the kitchen so we could hear
the ancient chants of her homeland
poured like native honey into the night.
Lizzie was as sweet and sassy as Geechee Gumbo.
She fed us everything we ever knew.
a ripe bundle of watercress tucked
in her apron pocket. She was as beautiful
as a low-country swamp, dark and thick.
She cooked perfect collards, a sliver
of fatback to season. Dash of Tabasco.
A simmered bowl of Africa, spooned
to innocent children.
Tuesdays she made 'Hoppin' John.'
The crunch of field peas poppin' made
us burst into laughter. We begged to have
our beds moved to the kitchen so we could hear
the ancient chants of her homeland
poured like native honey into the night.
Lizzie was as sweet and sassy as Geechee Gumbo.
She fed us everything we ever knew.
