Backwoods Magic

Tortellini pasta smothered in a basil pesto sauce

only meant for the taste buds of the gods father claimed

A sunlit room of the 4 o’clock summer air

The water hose tired and dented from all of our twists and turns

Freshly bathed babes gliding through the paisley painted kitchen

Tomatoes grown in the Mississippi heat spawn some kind of backwoods magic

A mother’s warning call of the dining hour

Perfectly planned for the setting sun and

You were in the backyard imagining a world even more fanciful than your own