by LYN PATTERSON
Heather Polk, Resilient and Fragile, 2020
Family Heirlooms
My nephews feed me
chicken and black eyed peas
from their Mattel kitchen,
.
They’re four and two
but they already know how
to season their food.
Before they could walk
they danced in their mama’s belly
“baduizm” blasting on papa’s speakers.
In gramma’s kitchen
the smell of sweet starch.
They may be boys now
but one day they’ll be men,
“two cornbread lovin brothas”
They are learning to
communicate their preferences
pointing at the sweet potato pie
or the pound cake.
Macaroni & greens
they do not eat just yet
but soon they will.
They’ll never forget
the way chitlins smell,
as we bless them
in preparation
for the new year.
The Gathering of Waters
also known as the Mississippi River
this river tells just as many stories of joy and pain
as the spacious skies and the flat yellow plain
this is the same river steam boats tugged along in,
transporting the day’s work, bloody white bolls of cotton
this is the same river ancestors looked for guidance in,
wading through timorously, carefully masking their scent
this is the same river grandparents sought reparations in,
treacherous journeys north, promises of owning land
this is the same river a teenager’s body was found in,
bloated and buoyant, beaten beyond recognition
this is the same river activists were lynched in,
Magnolia trees weep with the breeze, strange fruit hanging overhead
this is the river many of us were baptized in; condemned as sinners, born into this world seeking forgiveness
Vacation Dichotomies
Rich Europeans
soak in the sun
from morning to dawn.
A tropical storm brews
ruining plans
for the afternoon.
They curse the skies
while the “beach mama”
peels their mangos
near tropical flora.
She whispers Patois
near oblivious ears,
“Dem have no care
for dose who live ere.”
They thank her with a 50 cent tip.
Somewhere,
in the distance,
a farmer gives gratitude
to the gods.
The water,
is a blessing
to his mango trees.
Tropical rain in the afternoon
means ripe fruit and riches
for tourism
and those in search of
“easy living.”
I Started Writing You This Poem in the Perennial Aisle at Home Depot
You see, you pick plants by following your senses, and on this day, I was spinning “Kind of Blue” on repeat. I picked up some aloe for hydration (from a thirst I can’t quite seem to quench since you left). When I replanted it, I dug my fingers into the core of the earth. Memories of the sweetest things I’ve ever known came flooding back to the surface. I put the fern in the vase we bought for just in case. I guess, I really just need something consistent & uncombersome… something low maintenance. I wish you knew that there are still orange carnations on my altar for you and when they die, I will have mourned you twice.