Culinary Jubilee

On the day of jubilee we boiled dirt to season our food
To nourish bodies once reduced to capital
To savor tastes ingrained in memory
Unyielding to the tyranny of master and man
We carried fresh seeds from West African shores
And buried them deep in alien soil
Filling our stomachs with okra, yams, and black eyed peas
Transforming our palates into sites of resistance
Feeding became freeing
Eating , an act of self-determination

On the day of jubilee we broke bones to season our greens
We congregated in markets to trade in fruit and subversion
Blending New World invention with diasporic influence.

More vast than the expanse of the Atlantic exists an ocean of identity
whose waves crash against lands soon to be liberated
On that morning we'll have a new jubilee
Where we'll whisper grace over the plates of our Mothers and Fathers.

Sauce Gumbo, Calas, Rice Gruel, Summer Southern Succotash, Snow Eggs, Grumbs, Fried Porgies, Possum with Sweet Potatoes
A feast to defy centuries of toil made harsher by ancestral separation
A feast that will amplify the sated hums of dinner tables in Benin to kiss the eardrums of sea-chefs in the bayou
A feast to reconstruct an elevated Being from the psychic debris of our shattering encounter with Europe

On the day of jubilee we boiled dirt to season our food
And performed culinary miracles with its salty remains
Indeed, we were delivered into catastrophe
But we delivered back cuisine
This is the story of us
A story of rebellion
A story of creativity
A celebration.
A communion.