The smell of cornbread
bursts from the golden gates
of Heaven, stomps around
in your nostrils,
runs up into your brain
and kisses every braincell,
sweeps them off their feet.
Carries them across the threshold,
cause that’s what cornbread does
when it marries you.
Got down on its knee,
proposed, give you that diamond ring.
Great and wonder
delectable king of Appalachia
smiles, tells you things
that only cornbread knows.
That’s the truth that goes up
your nose, climbs high
into the Swiss Alps,
playing a banjo.
Last Wednesday night in Bristol
cornbread hugged every building,
every church. Sometimes you see
cornbread in somebody’s eyes.
It’s lying down, reading a newspaper.
Got its feet up on a cloud.
One night last year
cornbread played a drum in a jazz band.
It holds a grudge against the biscuit.
Ain’t never forgive the biscuit
for taking over east Tennessee.
Smell a biscuit and you can do anything.
You can hear coffee whisper
the wisdom of the ages.
You’re wise, cornbread pries open
the door to your unconscious,
hops right in and lets them thoughts
mingle with the mystical scent
of cornbread, which is where the truth
Knock on that door that is the scent
of cornbread and walk right through.
Everybody there who was ever born
waiting for you.
Bite a biscuit and you been kissed
by a pretty girl. She’s waiting at the altar,
that little plate on the breakfast table.
She loves you, why you think
she all dressed up,
wearing that napkin under her chin?