at times i feel invisible an then i recognize the power of things not seen and move through the world in peace and stillness
she wrapped all the poems selected, rejected, neglected, hectic & suspected, neatly tucked them into her grandma’s off brown more tan now, with yellow faded lines, incased somewhere -spotty,
on a greyhound bus, out of time, south bound & somehow grandma’s doubled stuff , double dipped /fried chicken with red kidney gravy & biscuits & to this day no one knows the whole recipe
but my tongue remembers cornflakes, instead of flour, goat milk instead of buttermilk, smoked paprika, no eggs, hot sizzling left- over-grease, sitting a aluminum coffee- can,
grandma’s veins deeply warm, corn rolling-oats, hard like her father but her soul is soft like her mother.
~ your poet Krissy Mosley ©2022
A Poet's Vision 
Oh. My. Goodness. That chicken sounds AMAZING. (Also, your first paragraph is profound.)
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thank you Lori 💜💜
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So many images and scents are produced in your poignant poem.
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Gorgeous phrasing, Krissy. A treasure to read you!
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💜 YOU!!! ARE; as I am
nisi mortuus nec neque nolite vicit 🤭🤫🤐
…💛💚💙…
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A powerful, sweet, tender wrapping of all that is created in all that is remembered, thank you for this and the half hour of remembering my own grandma.
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