The Coven After Katrina, and: Aubade Ending in a Lucid Dream of a Backyard, and: 235 Plum St. Haibun, and: James Hemings Prepares for Paris, the Culinary Capital of the World, and: James Hemings Arrives in Paris for the First Time

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

• The Coven After Katrina, and: Aubade Ending in a Lucid Dream of a Backyard, and: 235 Plum St. Haibun, and: James Hemings Prepares for Paris, the Culinary Capital of the World, and: James Hemings Arrives in Paris for the First Time
• Rodrick Minor (bio)

THE COVEN AFTER KATRINA

&elsewhere, I séance at seawatch the saltwater hymn the blood-less names from my tongue one by onemy kinfolks rise from the ocean-bed

&elsewhere, I sage a plantation houseboil the blood of the slavemastercrimson the walls a requiemmy kinfolks chant homecoming

&elsewhere, I conjure a bonfirebirthmark the land. the river. the air.pentagram the bloodlinemy kinfolks arrive the cookout

&elsewhere, I summon a bloodmooncotton a field of malice and gorebullwhip a sweet thunder of salt and skinmy kinfolks eyeteeth the meat

&elsewhere, I grandmother a gumbopot a limb. a skull. an eye. his tongue.slow cooked until the flesh falls off bonemy kinfolks say grace [End Page 95]

&elsewhere, I set a sacrifice for dinnergnaw the fat with no remorsesuck dry the gristlemy kinfolks the potlikkersAsé Asé Asé [End Page 96]

AUBADE ENDING IN A LUCID DREAM OF A BACKYARD

And the wet morning dew dillydallyagainst the bladesas the coffee kettle whistles a new blue browning

the Manda's smoked sausageredding the oak table an ensemble of bodiescomposed & cathartic by their aura i watchUncle Maine croon a duet at the windowsill with a titmouse tickle by his voice

i hum in unison a triowe serenade the slumber of sunrise subscribe to what silenceis left before the sweat slithersour temples before the motor oilsnakes our cuticles in a junkyard of sparked plugs and carburetors

like conductors reviving the soulfunk of an '86 Oldsmobilewe rummage ahead the symphony of dragon flies and cicadasprudent to the thirsty daysrushing into the wonderyears where we disbandbeneath a maroon sky partingover the whiff of angel biscuitsas eye open my eyeschasing the slivers of a sweetsolace daydream [End Page 97]

235 PLUM ST. HAIBUN

Only the tall blades of grass and beatupChevy lies in idle where the plot was lush,not fruitless. Pods of okra and lima beans grooveagainst the rhythms of cicadas. A bluesto caress the humid heavens like handscoursing the spine of sweet cornand mustards. Over yonder is a small batchof beefsteak tomatoes cut open for teatime with salt and pepper. Butternutsquash on the other endlike earthyand wide with flesh like marigoldsonce. I wonder, do the cicadas still humbefore the first flush of morning?Do the racoons and rabbits still scourthe space for a homegrown tastelike every natural living thing?

eating from some lifeform as the land mothers allcome black or gold years [End Page 98]

JAMES HEMINGS PREPARES FOR PARIS, THE CULINARY CAPITAL OF THE WORLD

Boston, MAJuly 5, 1784 - Jefferson sails east as the Minister to France

Slaving my bones in kitchens for recipesI spaghetti a sliver of marvelfilling the air with restless romancesof thyme rosemary and basil

as I flashback to moments with suchgaiety while smelling the ocean watersat first light on ship to a place I know muchabout nothing except the wonders

of cuisines relished & revealed by MasterJefferson I dare say with dreams & desiresunder my own volition without colorbeing a property or piece to a bias

regime hungry for my taste I fattenServing all kinds of foods to statesmen [End Page 99]

JAMES HEMINGS ARRIVES IN PARIS FOR THE FIRST TIME

Paris, Île-de-FranceAugust 6, 1784 - days before James meets Monsieur Combeaux

Serving all kinds of foods to statesmen

who speak ballads like with a softnessunfamiliar familiar sternnessI know in America its grimness

dealings of Negroes absent of softnessin my own daily move aboutssmelling the sweetness of pies in bunchesfrom cafés down the walkway routes

reckoning with my beliefs for a softnessI hunger of my own to claim onewhere...