“Flour the porkchops”
Wobbling on her walker
She was a warrior balancing
on one fully functioning leg.
“Give me the milk”
That shit looked curdled.
Assuaging my anxiety,
“Pour it in anyway.”
Stern and purposeful,
teaching me something novel
everyday
“Now put the beans in the pot…
mix the egg in…put that oil in
that pan, let it sizzle
befo you put the mix in”
Step by step revealing the small
things that made her supreme.
Happy dance and leg tapping as
her silver ringed fingers
were greased up, not with cocoa
butter, but fried pork chops.
Eating everything with a spoon
or hands.
Kitchen cuisine with
Grandma
Proclaimed that Black
Black Women are never just
one thing.
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