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in her house
she bakes sweet potato pies
and calls them love
welcomes the dawn
in old worn slippers
and on bended knee
and when dusk falls, all bruised and used up
giving way to complete darkness
she rocks on her front porch
humming her faith
hands telling my story
holding my history
when she holds my face
I understand
every time
I understand
every thing
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Simple but with good punch. Has a Sunday get-together feeling throughout it (food, then rest, then reflection ... know what I'm talking about?). Very well done, especially the second stanza. You ought to post some more stuff.
Unfortunately, I'm too tired to think of anything constructive to say... but I really enjoyed this. I like the images it brings up. It's beautiful. The image of the woman on the front porch makes me think of summer, and that makes me happy... Thank you.
