a memory of cooking with my mother

the kitchen is a bouquet
of cornbread, boudin, and
key lime; afternoon light
through the window glisters
like sun-soaked honey in a
ball jar; my mother’s
apron is a garden of rusty
begonias and yellow
ranunculi where she
keeps recipes and buries
secrets; she scratches
her back and hustles
prayers down the rosary
of her curved spine; i crack
the screen door to call
my brother for dinner as
night gathers itself in the
hollows between the trees

J Matthew Porter is a cemetery preservationist living and working in Birmingham, Alabama.

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