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Image for the poem Mamaw

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
Written by solanaceae
Published
Author's Note
Just a little tribute poem in honor of my Mamaw. Photo is not mine.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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