Avaline’s Pie

Great Grandmother Avaline
hexed haints, conjured cure-alls.
When the best hog died for no reason,
she sent Papa Fred to drag it out of the sun.
Beamon hunted the biggest buzzard
for a potion to ward off evil spirits.
When Bob, Beamon and Fred went out that night,
she cooked the buzzard like a blackbird pie
to warn the others and keep off the plague.
Bob, Beamon and Fred wandered home late,
bellies swollen with corn whiskey
and found the pie still warm on the woodstove.
Too drunk to know buzzard from crow,
they cleaned the pie pan and stumbled to sleep.
Grandma Avaline beat them awake
with a yard broom to reclaim her potion.

**

BoJangles Biscuit

Somebody ate a BoJangles biscuit the morning
my mama died and charged it to her credit card.
Mama had been eating mush for the last few days
and would have loved another Bo-Berry biscuit,
but December and death had crawled up on her
and shut her eyes down, stole that blue hope
we had all clung to. Some bastard somewhere,
stole my mama’s credit card and charged
a BoJangles biscuit the morning she died.

**

Buzzard Sky

Pa watched the sky burn
black with buzzards
crossing the Roanoke
to the slaughter house
on McGaskey Road.
They came in droves
stitching the sky together
to feed on carcasses.
Crops full, they headed north
back to nestlings high in
the Tuscarora hardwoods.

**

Cause of Death

Nobody knew what to write
in the “Cause of Death” blank;
it wasn’t sugar or high blood,
cancer or some other incurable.
His liver was in good shape since
he set corn whiskey down.
Miss Marthie said Cleve reclined
in his old chair, closed his eyes,
and never opened them again.
He was fine this morning, Jason said,
we fed and watered hogs,
set out plants ‘till lunch,
took a break by Old Mill
to saw down the water oak
blocking the path to the bottoms.
Early that afternoon
he bush hogged ditchbanks,
dropped me off and went
to feed and water the Widow’s black roosters.
Miss Marthie said the screen door
squealed about dark; Cleve was too tired
to eat so she put his supper in the oven.
He cooled off with half a glass of lemonade,
too close to death to finish it.
Hungry and wore slap out, she says
when folks ask what killed Cleve;
shrugs her thin shoulders and sighs,
he was wore slap out.