Down South
an acrostic tribute to where I grew up
By R.C. TaylorPublished about a year ago • Updated about a year ago • 1 min read
Photo by Gabe Pierce on Unsplash
Sundays after church, when it be rainin’ you know hole-
in-the-wall places serve the best food
like all the grandmothers in there cookin’—
earthy collard greens and soul food made with
no recipe and seasoned until the ancestors said stop
‘cause that’s how you reach ambrosia for those first few seconds,
everyone quiet, full mouths just a’chewin’
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This poem is an entry to Vocal's acrostic challenge:
Like it? Check out other entries of mine!
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
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Comments (2)
Loved this! That moment of silence when everyone is chewing. I know it. Best time in our house at the dinner table!
As a true bred Southerner, I truly loved your acrostic poem! The down to earth southern flare was felt to the core.