She is a true southern lady,
A package deal, accent included,
Big hair sprayed to the consistency
Of steel wool, hardy, strong,
Raised on cornbread, fried
Chicken and sour cream
Pound cake, and, of course
She learned to live that
Way, without any fear of
Butter or sugar,
But always hesitant
To give either one,
Her life too hard
To allow too much
Sweet and soft and tender,
But when it was there,
Oh, it was a treasure,
A taste to be savored,
Impossible to recreate:
The time she accidentally ate
My gingerbread cookie
Christmas ornaments,
Thinking they were
Gingerbread cookies.
One of them hung on
Our Christmas tree
Every year from then
On with a bite
Mark sized chunk missing,
The first time she taught
Me how to make cake,
To beat it, and beat it,
Keep working it until
The batter is smooth
And light, taught me
To treat life the same way.
Somehow those memories
Seem more prevalent than
Before. My small dose
Of sugar and butter
In the midst of stale bread and water.