SANDRA RIVERS-GILL
"The Taste of Home"
It is a soulful meal any day of the week.
I begin with an intentional menu
memorized within my mind.
To speak life is to mix the mustards
and turnips to uplift a tapestry of textures.
I select the strongest bunch from the grocer’s eaves.
Their value is sprayed by hidden hoses.
Peaked to plump, the grocer markets to the masses.
I know the fine art of perfecting flavors.
At home I remove the tough stems and immerse
dark, leafy greens in the brine of a long journey
brimming inside a black vessel.
To stir up freedom is to simmer the aroma—
smoked neckbones and slowly adding
thyme and sweet onions in the heat of cayenne.
Every colored spice sings in tender mercy.
Patience is an essential ingredient—
the soul of trial and error.
Southern roots be the origin of pot liquor—
libation sopped by the body and spirit.
Kinship passes down everything.
A sensation of songs seasoning our tongues
are lessons calling us to rekindle
the drumming of where we come from.
"Comfort Food"
for my grandmother
this kneed to rise
is an essential ingredient.
the yeast of her hands always
buried in sticky dough.
wistful leftovers hang over
my hunger pangs
these sweet tears stain
the pages of her cookbook.
the warm golden brown of her
is an oven of baked conversations.
she put her foot in it
never rushing the time.
her love folded in our hearts
across her table of second helpings.
this filling is a congregation of
soft, buttery hugs on our tongues.
to delight in the song of her aroma
is to stir the memory of more.
I can almost hear her bell ringing.
Come to supper.
"Ain’t Nothing Like Family"
At the table we plant our hips—
spread roots deep into the soil,
gather and grow bony plates
from country fried chatter.
Something good is always cooking.
The gospel of generous dessert
spoons our appetites—
heaped all over hallelujahs.
It tests our mettle,
stirs up a season of wait.
Gives us a bold flavor to chew.
We ask for second helpings
because we thirst for more
than pot liquor and cornbread.
Family is like leftover stew—
hearty as God’s honest truth.
It’s what Mama places on the table.
Before our prayers rise up
we come together and
churn homemade ice cream.
We are a culture of ripened fruit
consuming what is not always easy.
We learn to appreciate our fullness—
savor our sweet and spiced.
On our tongues we crave living water—
well done like ribs on a summer grill
perfected in the smoke of fire.
We are marinated in love—
seasoned with salt for our journey.
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Ain’t Nothing Like Family has been previously published in redrosethorns magazine and is included in my poetry collection, As We Cover Ourselves With Light, (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions, 2023). I own the rights to this poem, and give my permission to re-publish and re-share it.
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MORE ABOUT SANDRA RIVERS-GILL
Sandra Rivers-Gill is an award-winning poet, playwright and performer. Her writing explores themes of family, race and social issues. Her work is featured in journals and anthologies with nominations for the Best of the Net, Pushcart Prize and the Most Read Poem. She is a Teaching Artist through Creative Aging Ohio, has led numerous poetry workshops, and is the augural Poet Ambassador of Northwest Ohio for the Ohio Poetry Association (2024-2026). Her debut poetry collection, "As We Cover Ourselves With Light," (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions, 2023) was a finalist for the 2024 Eric Hoffer Book Award. www.sandrariversgill.com