Dear Deddi, You’d never believe this hole-in-the-wall I found. Grits were on the menu—with cheese, butter, salt and pepper. Steak was offered smothered and covered. You know I don’t like meat like that. But I sat and looked at the antique chestnut wallpaper Same as the place off of 74, like you used to take us. My mind got confused this morning. Last night's tequila might’ve had something to do with it. Elements of my day reminded me of you, how you’d forget to get gas, I could’ve sworn I heard you say “Babygirl” or “can I hold some money til payday?” It’s muscadine picking season now. You remember when we went hunting but I couldn’t kill a fly so y’all put me on “berry brigade?” Those wild deep purple muscadines are still my favorite. We got the big January snow you called about 3 days after you [redacted]. I made snow cream with too much vanilla extract and not enough cinnamon, the oatmilk wasn’t bad. Whirling whispers of death thick anointing the wind as the flurries fell to earth. I’ve found I can time travel in my mind back to before you [redacted]. Holding the blue reel in my hand before dangling the Spotted Brim over by the bass littering banks before… How am i supposed to be here without You?
Dayna Hodge Lynch (she/they) is a Black femme poet from North Carolina. Dayna received her B.A. in English, a minor in African and African-American Studies at Loyola University of New Orleans, their MFA from Queens University of Charlotte, and MLS from North Carolina Central University. Her work can be found in Rattle, Rappahannock Review, Potomac Review, NZ’s Tarot, the B’K, and daynahodgelynch.com.
