Cast Iron

Pimp My Lent/Day 36

The Prompt:

Two words from writer-activist Kim Batchelor…

“cast iron”

The Product:

Kim’s prompt (Shameless Pun Just Ahead ) was a particularly weighty one.

Right off the bat,  I was thinking skillets. Where my family is concerned, there’s real history tied up in anything food-related. I have at least three heirloom cast iron skillets, including my mother’s lethally heavy #10 chicken fryer. They’re all old as the hills, and don’t show a lick of age.  We should be so lucky.

I knew I would write about skillets. Food. Family dinners. The kitchen, and women at work, fried chicken, the grease can on the stove, and the near-impossible task of removing stuck-on egg from a poorly-seasoned skillet.

But then I remembered my three cast iron Japanese ladies. They were a gift from my beloved.

Some years ago, one of the girls lost her head in a tragic fall, and has never been the same since.

I can relate.

Three poems for my sisters in iron.


being cast

being iron

does not a guarantee make

the sanctity of being

springs from its impermanence

or haven’t you recognized it

we are date stamped

we are all date stamped

breaking down

every second every minute every hour every cell of every thing

rocks pulses beats

and then

fades blinks fails falls


cast iron



I am telling you

She has lost her head.

I mean!

Can you imagine –

iron-jawed, iron-willed


Up and lost her ever-lovin mind.

Gone into decline.

Flaked off,

Rusting out over time –

Like an Oldsmobile parked in high weeds.

Poor Sister.

Poor, poor Sister.

Up and lost her head.

We grieve her every day.

Pass the butter,



cursed lack of vision

steers me right back into the

hardware store for bread


About Vicki Caroline Cheatwood

Writerly. Rebooting. Evolving. Searching for great chicken salad.
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