The Nancy Walton Pringle Memorial Prize
Mt. Pleasant, SC
My mother is a tangle of daisies
trampled by wagon wheels.
Each Sunday, she puts on her best
dress and roasts a hen
for dinner. My mother is a vase
of damask roses left on the altar.
She uses yeast to make bread
for our table. My mother
is a morning glory climbing
remnants of an old
barn. She heats up beets
she canned last summer
and pairs them with fresh kale.
My mother is a peace lily
in a copper pot. Her surviving
friends deliver ham biscuits,
deviled eggs, and casseroles.
They excavate her irises,
plant them in places they won’t grow.