Ragne's Abyss

Greens, ham, potatoes

Aromas from my youth, they’re fleeting

Turkey, mac & cheese, yams

Why doesn’t it smell the same, my favorite meals?

The kitchen table’s empty but all the plates are full

Sweet potato pie, the kind my mother makes

The only thing that’s warm, sweet, savory

Everything else matches the room

Soul food, yet it’s spirit is transparent

I hold onto my mothers pie, It’s all I have left

The kitchen table’s empty but all the plates are full

Greens, ham, potatoes, turkey, mac & cheese, yams

They’re gone

Vanished from my present now seen as nostalgic

All that’s left is my mother’s pie

Sweet potato pie