Netsie-Matemasie
(I have heard it and kept it)
*from
the Adinkra symbols of Western Africa*
Epa
(handcuffs)
Chained to him.
My arms to his, my legs to his, my
head to his.
A rhythmical stretch:
the sweet tug in my joints
and supple roll of my head
match his.
A dancer's flexibility.
We leap in wide
circles.
But it
was his dance, not mine.
Embroiled in the brisk, broken beat.
Pa gya
(to strike fire)
His powerful body guides
as I slash
away chunks of flesh, fat,
muscle.
I look
at my skeleton. This is
war.
Gye
name (except God)
You release me from epa.
I collapse,
knotted nubs of bone.
You hold
me in your arms and give
me the breast.
Ese
ne keterEma (the teeth and the tongue)
Thank You for teeth,
for tongue.
I have used them to gnaw
my flesh, to spit
my bones, to bruise
my sister.
Now I can
use them to sing,
to kiss.
Kuntinkantan
(do not boast)
Help me pour myself out
like wine, like
blood.
I am
washing
Your feet.
Dinner
Party
I didn't
stick
to my menu plans. I intended to make orange
beef stir-fry and tempura, but Jane tensed
at the mention of meat, and eel
made Gary squirm. A veggie bisque or pie
might have worked except for Erin's allergies--peas
and barley.
But how to appease
twelve guests? Asian? I do have rice sticks
which I overcooked once--let cool into a pasta pie:
inside, toasted almonds, a sectioned orange,
and mushroom caps were masked by a congealed
mess of translucent worms which I served under the pretense
that slicing
pasta is normal. The contents
were good at least, and snow peas
made an elegant garnish. I just revealed
a culinary secret: décor is like lipstick
for food. Even lemons and navel oranges
cut on the bias produce smiles. The crack in your serving Py-
rex and
the circumference of zucchini count as do equal slices of pie
and the line between mince and chop. When your sole intent's
taste, cubing still matters, though tricky with oranges
and tomatoes which are anything but firm and square. Chickpeas!
Ay, there's the grub. I knew something in this pantry would stick
out. Never cared for them much myself, but they have company appeal
and beat
working with raw meats, especially eel.
Falafel, couscous, a sake-dressed salad, sweet potato pie.
Great. Now for some conversation-starters so we can stick
to topics of mutual interest rather than Marianne's monologue on tense
and declension in German which would surely prompt George to pee
every twenty minutes like he did during the barbecue. And these orange
decorations
need to go; it's almost Christmas. Studies show that orange
makes you hungry. Only it reminds me of Burger King--the heel
of the food world. But back to how to promote peace
and discourse. At least I invited Mary; she's a regular magpie
and more fun than most in the bunch, less pretense.
Then there's me. I always manage to stick
my foot
in my mouth, and then the evening's tense, and I wish a simple salad
with peas,
cucumber, sesame sticks, and commercial orange and cumin vinaigrette
would suffice when the pie is not in the oven yet, and it's almost time
for the meal.
Copyright © 2000 Deborah J. Shore
