I’ve missed our wind, my lake, n the view from south Pilling fried okra on my plate Chewing its crisp n slimy seeds I eat the browned doughy fruit Slurping out the palm of my hand Best meal I know is bread n fruit Its an old lady tendency To crave fried green tomato Grease staining my fingertips Hungry as a child I cooked cheesy bread A microwaved american slice crammed inna hot dog bun I traded two roach heads for a blunted sword Myself for a ticket n my blood fo an accolade What am I holding at the end of it all but Plump blushing hairy southern peaches Thick red leaking watermelons with black seeds N' handfuls of scally pink red lychee rocks My father’s gloday is etched into my skin Every song I sew my mother told me inna dream Pouring henny upon familial altars Watching the sun set upon familiar waters What do I do with this clay life? Planting language down time I know where I grew this shame N I know a place to burn it Come rest with me Waves skitter foam dirty green At the rock point facing Lake Michigan I’ve molded a beautiful life for myself The produce is fresh The bread is warm The za is loud Hold my Blackblue hand The fruit of my love is sweeter than my labor
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