Tell em’ open up them windows…let some fresh air in

Every time Grandma started cooking, the kitchen would fill up with a redolence that stained clothes or left a fragrance in your hair.

Sweet potatoes, greens, corn bread and bake chicken clung to every corner while the heat bussed through seams of closed doors until the whole house was sweating profusely.  

Grandma would yell, “ open up them windows..let some fresh air in.”

Each window would screech like a new born baby 

then a rush of coolness would soften the sound 

I’d stand there for a few minutes before heading back to the kitchen

Soaking up the loud mouth neighbors, the hard vibrations of base in a passing speeding sports car, to my grandfather marching back and forth from the front of the house to the back

And I, too was a part of it all

 my little brown body watching from the window pane 

I was seeing the world as much as it was seeing me 

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