My mama told me that my father used to hold her with fervor/ they would slow dance to Luther and Gerald/ memorize their words like old church sermons/ pecking each other’s lips like the day was meant for just that/ no time for anything else/ just gold caps on rotting teeth/ delta blues being echoed through the street’s/ the levee filled with gambler’s ready to sign their dollars away/ mama chastised but still he went/ telling her, heart in hand, wrapped in tamale husk, saying, “Sweet baby, I know when to hold ’em. Damn sho know when to fold ’em.”/ coming home with his shotgun close and a few hundred in his pocket/ whispering them seductive hymns as he slid between her legs/ asking for another kid to add to the litter/ asking for forgiveness when anger brought them low/ falling on their knees to pray for their Lord to bring their love back/ on high ground
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