A Man Hears My Stomach Groan and Takes an Interest (Three Poems)

A Man Hears My Stomach Groan and Takes an Interest

Man tips me off about this hole in the wall where an old gold toothed
woman stews hog maws like she never left Arkansas and when bored,
might fork an extra pork portion or second cornbread for one decent
short story. Says, if about love, she’ll grab your beers from way down
in that tub. I think I’ll begin with a good Christian woman’s husband
dying in a fire. She keeps her blacks packed in the attic and continues
living like nothing happened: slide out the bed; fix a breakfast; lay out
trousers; wait at their table, doorway, porch, curb for his return from
work. Come end of his shift, she’ll fry his steak, smother potatoes, ask
about his day. Her lonely heart skips beats whenever he leaves to pee
and on those cold asylum nights, he holds her closer than a cocooned
caterpillar. Old Southerner smiled like a sun rises and made my plate.