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Grits Biscuits Poem
They say the Oleander tree is pure poison
if you see too many in a yard
a witch certainly lives there about
long blades of turquoise leaves
carve up the sky in to shards of bluepink and sparkle gold
My tree has pink blossoms but some are as white
as
White Lilly Flour
soft as it can be
powdered silk with milk
egg and salt
rising in the heat
I look out the window
beyond the sheer green curtains
past the sharded sky
past the poisin tree
I am certainly a witch
I hold you like a ball of pure white light
How can you show and not tell?
Copyright © Grits Biscuits | Year Posted 2012
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Grits Biscuits Poem
Boring toast, ordinary white bread toast
nothing special, but, it was there...
sometimes it was all that was there
and it was a toy too
slapped around with butter
Sunbeam Bread child I was
dropping slice after slice after slice
of soft, bleached white, napkin bread
into the gleaming silver toaster
waiting for the "pop-up" moment
when the toast was expelled abruptly into the air
I remember eating toast all summer and mostly at night
in my grandmother's kitchen
until I became a little fat girl
I drank coke from the bottle until my teeth were bucked
Making toast was something to do
and eating it was something to do, too.
The porch swing creaked as I rocked it back and forth
my legs swinging
my mouth crunching toast
My eyes looking out into the yard
I wondered what was beyond the edge of the sky.
and who would marry me one day.
Copyright © Grits Biscuits | Year Posted 2012
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Grits Biscuits Poem
Mashed potatoes are a drug
each bite tastes better than than the first
ladled in hot pork gravy
puddled in the middle of the dollop
and dripping slowly down the sides
soft and warm they slide down my throat
a little salt a little pepper
every bite I feel the pleasure
everything is simple when I eat mashed potatoes
I am in the NOW when I eat them...
I'm nurtured by the texture and the creamy warmth and flavor
of that fat spud who I think loves me as much as I love it.
Food is love and "love is a drug"
I heard that love is a drug in a song by the New York Dolls.
Copyright © Grits Biscuits | Year Posted 2012
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Grits Biscuits Poem
Every morning lately it has been like this
waking up with a wet towel for a brain
feeling like I'm filled with dry beans
no one could shake me hard enough
to wake up for this strange half coma
I don't know how long it will last
sometimes it goes away pretty quick
sometimes not
I can't stop thinking
I can't become free
of the attachment
of me.
Copyright © Grits Biscuits | Year Posted 2012
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