Three ladies, old enough to know better, old enough to laugh at ourselves, old enough to not have a whole lot of fucks left to give about things that really don't matter.
We wear earrings and overalls, we laugh a lot. We sit on the porch
On the first day of perceived fall
We ate homemade pickles, crab dip and crackers, slices of green apples
Fried ham with fig preserves and mustard
The last peas from the garden, cooked with some white rice
Beets with carrots and onions, vinegars, sweet and sour,
Rubies, rubies, rubies
Cornbread with cane syrup on it, best goddammed dessert in the world
(Sorry, creme brulee)
We had drinks and talked about everything
Divorces, children, grandchildren, gardens, pig-raising, parents falling down and breaking bones
Men and dishwashers, dogs, bears, cats, kinfolk, Keith Richards, boys with blue, blue eyes.
We ate until we had baby-bellies.
We loved every bite.
We might have moaned a time or two.
We hugged tight like good-bye/hello/I love you.
I feel so damn blessed I could cry.
Silver fattening moon rising up over the pecan trees.
Chickens put to bed.
Baby blanket finished.
Bed waiting. Book waiting.
Thank my lucky stars for ladies
Who bring me joy by the basket