I HEARD MY MOTHER SINGING IN THE KITCHEN
She sang “Farther Along”
The voice soft and low,
Pans and dishes clinking an accompaniment.
The gospel music radio program
Interrupted by static, obituaries and birthdays
Was a 7 AM ritual as important
As the bacon and eggs, biscuits and gravy
Made for the family that gathered
In that warm sanctuary.
Flour fingerprints on the radio dial,
A jar of bacon grease,
A percolator of strong coffee
Wafting a wonderful aroma
Enhancing the smell of bacon and biscuit.
Elbows on the table with
Hands clasped against a
Dad said grace.
No one said much,
There were biscuits to be buttered,
Coffee to be creamed and sugared,
Two boys to be admonished
Fighting for the last piece of bacon.
The Chuck Wagon Gang sang
“A Beautiful Life” as sweet
Dixie Dew syrup drizzled
Across half a buttered biscuit.
Straight back chairs scraped
Away from the table,
Soon only Mama remained,
Sipping her coffee,
Left with the dirty dishes and the
Static of the local news to be
Followed by Pat Boone
Singing “A Wonderful Time Up There”.
Her voice soft and low
Accompanied by guitar and fiddle
Daughter Julie sang “Farther Along”.
I bowed my head in the church pew,
Said grace and cried as
I heard my mother’s voice
Singing in the kitchen.
Ó J. Harold Thurmond
July 7, 2008
Rabun Ramblings Main