Janet Bingham Poet Rhyme

Aunt Sara Catherine

AUNT SARA CATHERINE

Each Southern breakfast in your kitchen
smelled of fried apples, cornbread, 
and country biscuits 
with all the fixings.
Your grown sons came over every day
to eat at your table come what may.
Nobody could cook as good as you.
I like to imagine you started cooking
when you were two.
You were warm, loving and very giving;
nothing too difficult for you,
working or sitting.
But you wrote none of your recipes down.
When you died, God took your cooking far away
from everyone in Harlan town.
Now your recipes are hidden
somewhere beyond the sky,
but in order to receive them
I too will one day have to die.

Janet Marie Bingham

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