Slowly cooking over low heat, collards. Bacon and seasoning mixed among green, The spirit of grandma hovering and covering Like the aroma of dinner. Back in grandma’s kitchen, she stirs her pot of greens. Bare feet pressed against smooth, aged linoleum I hover and watch So these decades later she can join me. Beans sit in hot water, A poor man’s meal released, Imperceptibly expanding To become dinner. Flavor emancipated through A low heat growing. Increased anticipation Like grandma cooking dinner in the kitchen. Time reaches back to To a woman who still inspires me To be authentic and To bring her with me. Her pace is my pace today I feel her in this hot water of adversity Covering me As I expand to become more. Grandma’s quiet reserve Sits by stoic, stirring me to become Greater than I am, Like beans and greens. The slow pace, the anticipation, the heat, Difficulties make us who we are, Grandma and me, Beans and greens.
Images (cropped) by: Flickr Users Mush M and Brett Spangler, respectively