The Gospel of Barbecue

Honoree Fanonne Jeffers

• Publisher: The Kent State University Press
• Year: 2001
• eBook ISBN: 9781631011269
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

Winner of the 1999 Stan and Tom Wick Poetry Prize

"Honorée Jeffers is an exciting and original new poet, and The Gospel of Barbecue is her aptly titled debut work. These poems are sweet and sassy, hot and biting, flavored in an exciting blend of precise language and sharp and surprising imagery that delights. They leave a taste in your mouth, these poems; they are true to themselves and to the world. They are gospel, indeed, and this young poet will be heard more and more spreading the true word. Good news!" —Lucille Clifton

II

Ellen Craft

I keep reminding my husband that we both ride

to Freedom. Mine is a temporary pretense

but he clearly sees that it is wonderful

for anyone to be Master if only for a fortnight.

If only for one hour.

Even as William jokes that he is my slave

until we leave this train, he glares

beneath my man’s hat and clothes,

my suddenly pale ways. My skin

and my husband’s pen are our passports

into Jordan—William knows this and still

he watches me. He wonders if I will leave him

once I step onto Northern land and take

off this natural mockery, change into what others

would have me be. Or worse, stay to celebrate

our trickery when all our lives I shall

stare at him with the eyes of a white man.

“Chapel Hill, N.C.
Oct 19th 1861

Master:

All is well but Lucy. She is about but not very well. I am sory that I did not have the opportunity of writing sooner. I have a bad chance to write. Business is dull. I am just able to live. I have no young men to wait upon and can get into no very profitable business. If times was like they have been I could have earned good wages. I have done all I could. If you are satisfied please let your humble slave know, so that I can make farther arrangements. I lost about half my last sessions wages. When the war broke out the students volunteered and did not pay me for my labor. My youngest child is able to sit alone. My wife has generaly kept up pretty well. Provisions is very high. Please let me know how all are. I remain your faithful obedient an humble slave. Jerry Hooper.

Give my love to all.”

The Gospel of Barbecue

for Alvester James

Long after it was

necessary, Uncle

Vess ate the leavings

off the hog, doused

them with vinegar sauce.

He ate chewy abominations.

Then came high pressure.

Then came the little pills.

Then came the doctor

who stole Vess’s second

sight, the predication

of pig’s blood every

fourth Sunday.

Then came the stillness

of barn earth, no more

trembling at his step.

Then came the end

of the rib, but before

his eyes clouded,

Uncle Vess wrote

down the gospel

of barbecue.

Chapter one:

Somebody got to die

with something at some

time or another.

Chapter two:

Don’t ever trust

white folk to cook

your meat until

it’s done to the bone.

Chapter three:

December is the best

time for hog killing.

The meat won’t

spoil as quick.

Screams and blood

freeze over before

they hit the air.

Chapter four, Verse one:

Great Grandma Mandy

used to say food

you was whipped

for tasted the best.

Chapter four, Verse two:

Old Master knew to lock

the ham bacon chops

away quick or the slaves

would rob him blind.

He knew a padlock

to the smokehouse

was best to prevent

stealing, but even the

sorriest of slaves would

risk a beating for a full

belly. So Christmas time

he give his nasty

leftovers to the well

behaved. The head ears

snout tail fatback

chitlins feet ribs balls.

He thought gratitude

made a good seasoning.

Chapter five:

Unclean means dirty

means filthy means

underwear worn too

long in summertime heat.

Perfectly good food

can’t be no sin.

Maybe the little

bit of meat on ribs

makes for lean eating.

Maybe the pink flesh

is tasteless until you add

onions garlic black

pepper tomatoes

soured apple cider

but survival ain’t never been

no crime against nature

or Maker. See, stay alive

in the meantime, laugh

a little harder. Go on

and gnaw that bone clean.

Music, Buzzing of Absence

A cow’s going to need her tail more than one fly time.

—African American Proverb

Where did you drive me?

Can’t see a soul

here in my lonely

field. No calm pat

or there, there

locates my cries.

Hair spinning on end,

fingers scraping

the bloody itch.

Music, buzzing

of absence.

Where is the silk,

the air when my skin

flickers, water now

that I remember thirst?

Eyes of Soon Children

How does my father

look, my father who is not

yet my father? Does he wear

his thick halo of hair?

Can he be my father

when he is thin and alive?

It is f...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Halftitle Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Acknowledgments
• I
• II
• III
• IV
• Notes