stepping out of my self

trying to write something that is not anything like how i sound

Used to be

Mammy would wake up early

every morning

and make us all corn biscuits.

By the time we was woke,

Her apron be covered in flour

and her hands

would be white as the good linens

out on the line.

Her biscuits would make the whole house

smell like a mother's love.

Mammy always said it was the spices,

a sweet honey like scent

that would waft in the house

hours after we cleaned the dishes.

Them brick walls just soaked up the smell

and if I could find my way back home

I might just crack one of them bricks open

As I could taste Mammy's love one last time.