Soul Food Poem by O.S. Brooks

I remember...
Yesterday
Prayer
Church songs
Aged clapping hands
A smile as wide as Texas
Steam rising from a pot
a smell that welcomed you
to sit
grab an old wooden stool
and listen
old stories were told by a whispering angel
about how life had changed
respect, morals, and love
were not the same
our revolution had died
like a dream deferred
But...
Grandma
Wise in every since of the word
could create magic
she'd stir that pot full of nothing
and feed one hundred starving listeners
around an old shaky table

I remember...
eating endless bowls of warmth
soup made of scraps she could throw together
commotion
card playing
laughter in another other room
children dancing to a broken radio
and mother trying to hide worries about bills
behind the song in her voice

But...
Grandma
had a way with that magical pot
a way of pushing negative clouds off the horizon
a way of keeping us together
As children...
we slept
as the adults carried on through the night
dancing off their concerns
with a bellies full of imagination
waking to the sound of bacon crying in a cast iron skillet

I remember...
My sister and I
twins of one spirit
too young back then
to listen and learn
to take time out from climbing up a miseable apple tree
and simply get her ailing message

I remember...
Yesterday
Prayer
Church songs
Aged clapping hands

Grandma
left this world
as most do
alone
with only the moon
to listen to her last request
And
Life
Is
Unfair
That way
The way a queen
can go through so much
and not ask for anything in return
except a smile and conversation
She said folks didn't talk anymore
families yell at one another through walls
and wonder why relationships crack
like aging plaster along an old brick oven

But...
Hopefully we are making her proud
together
around that old mystical pot
chasing memories of yesterday
when life was as simple a miracle soup