All Lemons but not one Lime

All Lemons but Not One Lime

The citrus breeze that carried the morning sun
or the caked powder of the morning flour filling nostrils
or the creases
of my grandmother’s hands
And the way she always had a smile
that carried the epitome
of that true Southern charm

The ham and collard greens
And the crackling fire pit’s that echoed the clink of bottled beer
Yeast and heat quenched in the eyes of the adults
Too glazed to care about the bare footed
Long haired Sunday dress child
dancing to the strings of Charlie Daniel Band’s
“Devil went down to Georgia”
Stuck before he ever reached
The juiced groves –
Or the seagull filled skies of salty ocean shores

Magnolia trees too tall to climb
Carrying the perfumed memory
A bigger sister with fire in her chocolate eyes
Who was the only one who knew the recipe to “Red berry soup”
In the Strawberry Festival holding the Carmel apples
Chased around content cows
And hyperactive dogs, bouncing with the tune
“Ya’ll mind the cars-
and meet us down yonder!”

Soy sauced dipped steamed broccoli
Or a stolen sip of sour Buttermilk
(Mistaken for the real thing)
Or the sad song of Garth Brooks,
Serenading a broken heart in a raging thunderstorm
To the nights of excited Saga Genesis -
“Rise from your graves”
to Slimer flavored Bubblegum in a toothpaste tube
To Christmas’ favorite Chocolate pie
(or Apple, or peach, or lemon, or)

Church bells and a feast
After the Baptist’ sermon
Jasmine planted in the front clipped yards
Of the neat little houses on a dirt road
Away from Phil Collins and his time in Genesis
With the melting mint chocolate chip ice-cream cone
By the bubbling creek, and salamanders in jars
Lizards too quick to catch,
Or the first real taste of cooked squirrel fresh caught

Maybe just the first real taste
of sausage biscuits
or the game screaming
“Do a barrel roll”
to the soft serenade of nights crickets
the South and its failed child Belle
Entranced by the nearby sound of the Harley’s engine
or the chaos of the neighborhood boy’s challenge

I stood at the Mason-Dixon Line and knew
I’d never leave it far behind
Searching through waterfall eyes
To remember the best part about my Grandmother’s smile
If it was the way she knew how to make the best orange juice
Maybe the morning’s rise of cooking biscuits
Digging through a drawer to find
All lemons but not one lime