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