Salted Abraham

There’s a jar of ginger cookies by the door, dear.
I know how much you love blackstrap molasses.
Put your apron on and come and help me —
we’ve a lot of potatoes to peel before
the men come home. That lemonade ain’t
ready yet. There’s sugar in it, but somehow
it never goes sweet. Throw these trimmings
to the old dog in the yard. That yellow one
that always comes around. I’ve given him
a name, though it’s silly — he’d come running
and wagging just the same if I called him
“Rolling Pin” or “Maple Tree,” I know it’s just
the trimmings he’s after, not any of my
patting and naming. But what was I saying?
You’ll think I’m silly, and I am silly, but
I’ve taken to calling that old dog
Salted Abraham. Seemed almost as if
he spoke it to me one day, tossed
his name to me like a ball. Anyway, dear,
don’t listen to me! We’ve a lot of work —
no time for old fools nor old, yellow dogs.


2 thoughts on “Salted Abraham

  1. Oh, thank you so much! I always love it when you tell me you have shared one or will do so. It’s an honor.

    Some details in this one are from my great aunt, though she wasn’t Southern and hated to cook. 🙂 But she did keep jars of candy and dog treats near the door for visiting children and dogs, and there were a couple of dogs in particular who probably spent more time in my great aunt and great uncle’s yard and porch than at their own houses.

    When I wrote this, the name came first — while I was doing something else — and then the scene and the voice unfolded from there.

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