Sonnet About Biscuits and Bacon
or a Lenten Meditation on Being Soft
I’d find it hard to name a better smell
My great-great grandma’s dough bowl and rolling pin. Sitting on Great-Grandma Lillie’s enamel kitchen table in front of Great-Grandma Allie’s pie safe. There was a time when I foolishly distanced myself from my heritage, so to be the caretaker of these items now is precious. P.S. the runner hand-quilted by my sweet mother-in-law, Anita Klees. www.thequiltladyandmore.com
Than biscuits baking. Take that back. Add
Some bacon in a cast iron skillet, well,
If that don’t turn the goodest vegan bad…
My mama gave my wife and me a dough
Bowl turned from wormy chestnut that belonged
To her great-grandma. Must have been, I know,
A lost-count number of biscuits kneaded, sing-songed
From wood-burn stove to table, farmers fed
Enough to strengthen them for hours more
Of bone-tired fieldwork. Grandma often said
“Y’all don’t know real work like we did before.”
My great-grandfarmers plowed the field ahead.
I reap their sowing, eat their daily bread.