Push it against your nose. Sweet smells and summertime. Juice running down your cheeks. Shapes like smiles and laughter. Sticky fingers laced together and sunshine. Running the 50 yard dash on stick legs. Leaning into the sky. Knowing you’d catch me.
Her hands so soft. Made of pillows and sometimes pine needles. Prickly when upset and smooth when comforting. Smell the way sugar bombards the senses. Special treat. Heat.
You carry in the cardinal’s song. Cut fruit and rhyme. You carry in my voices and my rebellion. Sweet teeth and harmonica’s pitch. Somewhere teaching children of ripe pickings. Of cussing in two languages. Of love.
Somewhere heaving worlds on shoulders. Cotton picks and bluebonnets. Laying against the earth you grew.
Take this fruit. Place it against your nose. Inhale. The sweet scent of your matriarchy.