Mississippi's Aroma

A ritual unfolds
Like bittersweet worship
In our breakfast room
Of Café de Munde

Simple Sundays indulged
Heaping, yet grounded
Anthills filter through

A haven brewed
In homemade beignets
Savored sugar
Dipped over the mug's lip
Like paste
Melting into our glaze

A porch picnic
On balcony floor boards
Which creak with their history
As the magnolia tree sways
The pecans dive
And the armadillos breed

In lethargic mildew
The downtown library rests
A slew of old buildings
Streets stacked
Stripped to a church bell
Even off cue

Civil rights
Unspoken tattered page
Stamped, quoted
In a quarter mile of a wage

We sip sip sip…
For less and less to remain
In disarray
For the coming week's
Mental notes, who is to blame
The child's belt
That whips whips whips…
We sip sip sip

We were promised paradox
In our covenant of laughter
With politics interspersed
In perpetual motion
I teach perplexed

You run, mindful and clear
Along dark country roads
Under moonlight's rich cotton hue
Nothing's at stake
In those parts of town
Not even for you
A timekeeper's son

I eavesdrop
On our softening eyes
Dark circles erased by the sun
Where joy can bellow
When joy can glide

I eavesdrop

On night-
Sets in
Mileage noted
A loyal lifeline
From your forehead to chin
My fingerprint
Powdery sugary
In playful migration
I dust a brief façade of a beard
On you

To my surprise

In seven days
I will succumb to Sunday again
In the company of this aroma

We breathe in.