The Chicken Spot

by Jason B. Crawford

The only spot I ever order chicken at nowadays
Is where you can get 50 whole Wings for $23.99
Where the koolaid stay replenished
And the grease stains the inside of the cheek
Where they keep the seasonings simple
Lawrys/garlic/pepper/chili powder/cayenne/a pint of salt
Ain’t no sauce that ain’t hot, which we mostly bring for the fries and the catfish.
A place where the kitchen taste as good as a homecoming
I learned how to say my father’s name from his mother
She held the R in the pit of her jaw like a neck bone
BeRnard
And if that don’t speak love into the frying pan, then I have gone my entire life unfed
What I learned most about staying was from my mother’s Mac and cheese
My sister makes a lemon pound cake for my grandfather at thanksgiving
And she starts to morph into my grandmother
So I’m here
Where the food taste like the knees don’t quite bend the same
we used to chew the gristle off the bone and in turn it came for our joints
Here
Everything comes with a side of coleslaw and a piece of bread to soak up the grease
Here, where nothing speaks to us more than the after service dinner
That must be what god meant when he called us family
If I cook for you, it’s only to say I care
If I use a little extra butter, It just means I love you
It’s how my grandmother showed me
I was taught how to create family in her kitchen
I promise I’m still learning


Jason B. Crawford [He/They] is a black, non-binary male, bi-poly-queer writer born in Washington DC, raised in Lansing, MI. In addition to being published in online literary magazines, such as Wellington Street Review, Barren Magazine, The Amistad, and Kissing Dynamite, he is also the Editor in Charge for The Knight’s Library Magazine. His chapbook collection Summertime Fine as a Short List selection for Nightingale & Gale.

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