thar

thar’s a hot cast-iron skillet

re-renderin’ a couple

layers of the past

by spoonfuls from the coffee can

in my mouth:


thar’s a cornmeal coat

on a young tomato

dancin’

next to buttermilk

and brother okrie


thar’s a sweet onion

new like the evenin’

waitin’

to blister

cut thick like she likes it

sweatin’ in the warm

top the peppered taters


thar’s pork chops piled

in the fresh salted flour

smilin’

they know they’re last

and they know they’re best





thar’s a screendoor

smoke can breathe through

and a dog

barkin’ about it