Mother Cooking
Mother eats watermelon.
Watching the news. Talking
the whole while. Goes
back to the bedroom.
Comes back wearing pajamas.
Boils corn and slices fresh Blue
Ridge
tomatoes. Fries chicken. While
biting her tongue. The house
smells delicious. The
oil is just a crackling. The
kitchen is quiet. It’s ready.
Mother eats watermelon.
Watching the news. Talking
the whole while. Goes
back to the bedroom.
Comes back wearing pajamas.
Boils corn and slices fresh Blue
Ridge
tomatoes. Fries chicken. While
biting her tongue. The house
smells delicious. The
oil is just a crackling. The
kitchen is quiet. It’s ready.
- Daniel Barbare 2014
Roadside Stand
Labor Day. Coming down
the Blue Ridge Mountains. Sun
on our backs. Gravel
drive. Dust flying off the wheels.
Looking at squash, fuzzy
whole okra, green beans. Tomatoes
soft enough to slice this evening.
Wildflower honey, pickled beets,
bread and butter pickles, dill and
garlic. Mother buys sweet
potatoes.
And peaches to soften in the
kitchen
window. I buy three plump and
red tomatoes for $2.00.
- Daniel Barbare 2014
Danny P. Barbare resides in the Upstate of the Carolinas. He works as a janitor at a local YMCA. And has been writing poetry off and on for 33 years. He says he enjoys the cold weather in the South and taking long walks especially if it snows. His poetry is mostly about what ever strikes him at the time.
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