The smell of sizzling pork sausage
frying up in a black cast iron skillet
while homemade biscuits rose in a hot oven
set my little girl mouth to watering
because Grandma knew her way around her kitchen.
She took the piping hot biscuits and slathered them
with glistening golden cold chunks of butter
and then she smothered perfect baked puffy clouds
light as a feather in Louisiana’s own Steen’s syrup.
Thick as molasses dark, rich and candy sweet
a delightful breakfast for me, served in a tin pie pan
so I could dip the sausage and dunk the buttery biscuits
in the dark luscious river of ribbon cane syrup
that came in a sunny bright yellow can.
©2021 Linda Lee Lyberg
Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: Weekend Mini Challenge: Grandma’s Kitchen
Poets United: Poetry Pantry #494