Written for the Sunday Whirl wordle. This one did not flow quite as well, and might fit better in a prose form, which I have not figured out how to format in WordPress, or do I fully understand. I did try to incorporate ‘poetic elements’ (almost makes me sound like I know what I am doing – NOT!) into the story, but…. Anyway, enjoy and I look forward to the feedback.
The story of the Southern Sister’s Kitchen
was steeped in charm and shards of history,
yarns often retold in the back booth
between meal times at the old cafe.
They started the restaurant later in life,
after children had scattered and husbands died.
Drawn together by instinct and family ties.
Seeming the perfect fit for old southern cooks
with a love of the kitchen and the food it produced.
The socializing was a bonus, a byproduct of people
always searching for a place that feels like home –
and the joy of the occasional scandalous tale.
The overweight trio had as great a knack
for story telling as they did for putting a
scald on fried chicken (the best in west Georgia);
whether embellishing, politely, on local gossip,
or whispering of urges debutantes should deny.
Favorites for frequent retelling were the teenage
crush on JFK, or when the youngest had to
scatter through the woods after being caught
with a boy; tales to turn the old bittys ashen
with incorruptible indignation.