Biscuits and Sausage

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

37 Comments on “Biscuits and Sausage

  1. Okay, so this poem is…AWESOME…and the memories it evokes…delicious. You were so fortunate to have a grandma who made these biscuits for you!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I can almost taste these biscuits. My grandma made the lightest, fluffiest biscuits, too – her secret was a teaspoon of Cream of Tartar in the flour. I loved this poem of remembering.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. We didn’t make flour biscuits in my part of Nebraska back in my day. So my grandmother did not make them. Mrs. Jim makes biscuits and knows Steen’s Cane Syrup. She is from Alexandria, Louisiana. Her father was from Thibodaux. I got a pretty neat bargain for my $5 license.

    Liked by 1 person

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