Cast Iron Seasoning

I am all things strong though not necessarily shiny and new.

I am a copy machine after 10,000 print jobs. Now with a sign that reads
            “please repair”.
I am a sturdy loafer that’s been re-soled countless times. The penny replaced
            by a dime.
I am tennis; side to side, up and down, volleys, backhands, sprinkled with a few aces.
Faded, cracked, full of memories, I am an old photo loosened from a sticky page.
I am Kelly green; a happy median between brilliant emerald and olive drab.

I am lapis lazuli; a source of healing, creativity and wisdom.

I am the backbone of my family.
Like the motherland for her people, I am Africa.
I stand tall. I am a mountain sloped on all sides.
Rich and full, intoxicated with the spirit, I am eggnog.
I am a kiwi; brown skin, prickly, protecting the soft, mushy inside that surrounds the
            seeds of life.

I am vanilla; the scent that comforts, reminding you of a warm kitchen.
I am cast iron seasoning in the oven.
Sometimes, I am a pie eaten at room temperature or cold from the ‘frig.
Other times I am a cake; chocolate frosted with white buttercream, silver dragėes
            edge each layer.

Yet, I am grief and tired and weary.

I am a giant stunted by fear.
Weighted with a bag of doubt, I am a gimp.
I am an attic needing to purge what no longer serves.
I am a rearview mirror always looking back for the answers that lie ahead.
I am a produce section; full of goodness, waiting to be picked, slowly withering away.

I am naptime rejuvenating.

Upon waking from my dance with the ghosts of Malcolm and Sam, I am “A Change
            Is Gonna Come”.
I am the 1800’s; frontier, unsettled, full of possibilities.
I am Scrabble; words connecting, ready to tell a story.
I am a ruby; studding a pair of slippers clicking three times.
Turning towards the sun, I am a sunflower, buds taller than the rest.

I am April. I am dawn.
I take flight. I am a bird.
I am trespassing in a world high above my life.
I am a pencil not able to commit.

 

Rachelle Parker

About Rachelle Parker

Rachelle Parker is a Nassawadox born, Brooklyn bred girl. She now resides in eclectic Montclair, NJ. There she offers her stories, poems and desserts. Some of the stuff that pleases the senses.
Bookmark the permalink.

Comments are closed.