deepundergroundpoetry.com
Mamaw's Kitchen
she awakes at dawn,
ready for the day,
an old custom
she grew accustomed to
in sharecropper times,
she worked in boots of steel,
& within a factory,
she slaved away
with her five children,
and alcoholic husband,
in a tiny house
planted firmly in
the Mississippi Delta
shucking corn
and shelling peas,
in Mamaw's house,
a tastefully divine
culinary specialty
homemade biscuits
in her kitchen,
fingers, flour-dusted,
like magic from
an early winter's snow
she kneads the dough,
a cigarette dangling
off her crooked smile
the entire time
an old enamelware
coffee mug sits nearby
and the pot brews all day
and night
in this house
ready for the day,
an old custom
she grew accustomed to
in sharecropper times,
she worked in boots of steel,
& within a factory,
she slaved away
with her five children,
and alcoholic husband,
in a tiny house
planted firmly in
the Mississippi Delta
shucking corn
and shelling peas,
in Mamaw's house,
a tastefully divine
culinary specialty
homemade biscuits
in her kitchen,
fingers, flour-dusted,
like magic from
an early winter's snow
she kneads the dough,
a cigarette dangling
off her crooked smile
the entire time
an old enamelware
coffee mug sits nearby
and the pot brews all day
and night
in this house
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 5
reading list entries 3
comments 6
reads 639
Commenting Preference:
The author is looking for friendly feedback.