Magic is molasses Dripping from a spoon, Sticking and oozingIts way down through your throat. Magic is good on waffles.
I wonder what magic tastes like When it’s bad?Burnt toast, maybe? Crumbles of intention and evil combined to form A hockey puck that would make any morning worse.
Breakfast is magic.We start our day with the sun Baking itself into the back ofOur eyelids But the smell of bacon Wafts up from the kitchenAnd you keep getting up-Keep setting that intention to Look forward to another breakfast.
Magic is in your mouthBehind your teeth, Down your throat. Milk to a newborn- That’s magic Lullabies at bedtimeAnd saying goodnightTo the moon.
Magic is born in the mouth And in the spirit of saying“I just had a feeling,”It starts in the gut
And works its way back upUntil the words that come outAre branded with your blessingsAnd Sunday night prayersMean something different entirely.
Instead of begging for a miracle,Fry it up like bacon in the morning. Mix it together and make a scramble.Yell when your toast burnsAnd always cry over spilled milk.
Magic doesn’t forget to be sweet,It knows how to push your buttonsIn all the right waysLike the sun shining too brightlyAnd wind whipping hair in your eyes.Incense smoke causing an asthma attackAnd somehow, you’re allergic to sage?
But magic doesn’t leave When you tell it to.Magic stays behind and Gets caught in your breathWhen you’re not looking.So suddenly, you’re writing again For the first time in ten yearsAnd your new friends invite youTo Waffle House for the fourth time this weekBut you know what?Waffles never get old.
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Payton Smith is a local poet and Georgia Southern University student as well as a staff member. She performs spoken word at the Chandler Hollow Studio, and has a poetry chapbook entitled “Rot and Poetry” in the process of publication.