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Home-Place Ice Cream Painted and peeling gray in the swamp of August, the concrete porch framed a gaggle of grandkids peering over the wooden tub, waiting their turn for a jaunty vault aboard the bucket top or to spin the handle around, around… around promises of banana ice cream quickening pulses as small, cold hands slowed to a cricket’s pace while Uncle Dub dumped chunks of ice into the soaked crock over rock salt layered about the frosty metal can, treats in jeopardy of melting between Papaw plunging the stiff crank again, again… again pumping the rickety machine as kids straddled the bar, bearing down with both hands on towels trapping cold in, sweat out; salt brine overpowers every scent until Dub declares, “It’s done,” swings the bar loose, the braces falling aloof to tiny fingers shivering while tingling tongues await the thrill of Dad lifting that cold, cold canister, a grail gilded in crystal. Beth Cagle Burt, poet and photographer, co-edits Kakalak Anthology of Carolina Poets and moonShine review prose journal. She has served as teacher, journalist, and writing consultant with poetry and photography appearing in Slipstream, Tulane Review, Blue Collar Review, GSU Review, New York Quarterly, and others. Her award-winning chapbook, The Fearless Tattoo, is available at www.shadowpoetry.com. next table of contents |
