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.
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