Candied Yams, and: Courtin', and: What Momma Taught Me: Or How to Covet

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Candied Yams, and: Courtin', and: What Momma Taught MeOr How to Covet Diamond Forde (bio) INGREDIENTS 4 sweet potatoes swollen with sun ¾ cup of brown sugar (molasses clung) 1 c of white sugar 1 cinnamon dash nutmeg, ginger (just a splash) 1 stick butter split into pats orange juice (another splash) 1 lemon, zested & mashed a stove warmed with expensive gas DIRECTIONS 1. Sop the sweet potatoes in cold water, buff the brown roots till they ruby—wish you could carry your sister like this, cradled in your soap-chapped palms, her skin slippering to the anxious wring of your fingers. You don't want to kill her, not really, but you have wanted to slam her godly face in with a mallet since you were five, & it ain't your fault potatoes stay hot long past boil, a familiar heat welling behind the eyes 2. before Alice's first day field workin', you watched, fool-curious, from the doorstep. Momma stopped Alice in the foyer, sopped her soft & motherly in her trembling arms, & you knew Momma was afraid of the Southern noon scooping her Daughter in its filthy mouth, seen her palpitating palms each time Alice slipped you somethin' from her own plate, not enough to go around & y'all knew it, but admittin' meant there wasn't time 'fore Alice had to learn the mule-ways of her grandfather, & it was time, the heat gnashing wet & rapid, but Alice wasn't scared at all—restless really, like she was ready to rocket, bang brilliant against the amethyst sky. 3. You feed the coined potatoes in a spiced pot. Squeeze an orange, grimace when the juice howl through the cuts on your quaking hand. [End Page 1] 4. Once you dragged Alice to the jook ran back in Barney's barn, & you meant to scare her, meant to see the holy light drain straight from her face, even though you knew Momma would switch you both for even thinking 'bout those places but you ain't care, not even when the jazzman went wild, trumpet clacking like epaulets in his heavy hands, wasn't a worry left in you 'cept Alice who dittied to herself, nonsense at first, like wasn't nothin' but the notes strung through her— 5. Then louder. More louder till the brass band backing a song seem plucked up from the daffodils, & you can't 'splain the hurt hung in you like party lights, a twinkle by the dusty shelf you keep your dizzied will to live, but you knew then Alice was large, too large to carry, too large even for the mountains, & once you knew it, you heard the knowing inside you like a low whistle, & you wanted to warble along but ain't no trill on your own tongue, numb & candied. [End Page 2] COURTIN' WE giggle by the wet banks, laughter flirtingwith the shadowed woods. He smooth,scoop a hand around my shoveled back,the uncharted mapped in his eyes, he took melike a mother, which means he reminded me of my smallness, palmed me carefulas chickadees, & in his hands I imagine starlightwinking off my cheeks, cardamom & yeast,a whole world whistling between my arms.I gasp, bend against his shoulders, chew on the cigar stank bejeweled at his nape,& the two of us songbirds,he's sangin' in my loose-curled crown,an agrestic gospel, a melody of sky,& when we kiss, it's communion, the total sum of us pecked into merciful sugaron our lips, & he wants me to be his woman,which means we are two players courtside,tossing a ball till the other can't keep up,rule-bound & gender-mercied, there's no stepping back till the game's done,we give as much as we take, the same gameMomma played, & when we press away,sweaty, love-muddled, panting, we both knowwho's winning. [End Page 3] WHAT MOMMA TAUGHT ME "Mothers may have ensured their [children's] physical survival, but at the high cost of their emotional destruction." Patricia Hill-Collins THIS is how you clean: soak mirrors vinegar-wetthen let it set long enough to...