Memories

Meema’s singing in the kitchen
Chicken frying
Greens simmering
Pies smelling
Chitlins boiling
Can’t forget those bad ass whoppins where mama told you to pick your own switch
(Ya’ll know what I’m talkin about)
How you’d play sick on Sunday to get out of going to church
And having your momma come twist your lips and get you
Listening to the preacher tell about the fire and brimstone that will come to little girls who disobey their parents
You’re talking to your friend while they’re hoopin and hollerin
The usher pops you both in the back of the head
Gramma drying clothes
Dry pockets at times
But NEVER dry love

The Blues

…have been a resolve to us
Has expressed lost love and shit like that
How can such a melancholy sound bring such joy?
The Blues are more than just sounds…they’re the tears and smiles of a people of an era
And that
Baby
Is
Timeless