new years’ ghosts
by drea brown
1.
on the eve of this new year, in the middle of a pandemic that brings daily surprise and death, i am safe. the only human in my house that needs to be fed, though the stout black cat nibbling my heels would say otherwise. tomorrow there will be plenty of food, my ancestors insist. their voices, one lilting, one wispy, another a firm hand, all remind me. pick the greens. wash them. salt them. soak them. ready the beans much the same. there will be cast- iron cornbread and smothered turkey wings, a splash of champagne and a tiny rolled cigarette to honor my grandmother’s birthday, nestled beside a full plate. tomorrow this will be all the company i need to move gently through the day. there will be a plate for me, a little meat for the cat.
2.
tonight there will be grits. it has taken a while to name this i know, it takes a while to make them, there are too many voices moving in the kitchen, and still i am the only human here. sometimes, memories come in the shape of whoever helped make them. a lover returns as i am sifting through stone ground yellow grain. the name is not important, we both know it. she is a slight and mighty shadow watching the dry meal pass through my fingers. i move her out the way. she disappears long enough for water to boil, for broth to simmer and grits to bubble. my hand a steady stir when she returns. we stare into the thickening pot of gold until it turns pale, until it becomes another year, another pot, everything the color of musty parchment.
3.
that new year’s morning we woke tangled in a twin bed. window open, the sun smacking the closest brick wall. we snapped polaroids in our drawers. we fucked and got hungry. new to this place and dollars dwindling i made my way to the community kitchen. no one was there. i used the butter i found and the quick grits on the shelf, an egg from the refrigerator. everything sizzling, stirred and smelling good. i tasted it, i know i did.
the egg i topped on the mound was the right kind of runny to forget waking up in a tenement on the row, and if it didn’t look so good i believe i would have seen it. but it was not until she lifted the spoon a second time that what lay dormant in the dry hominy rose to meet her mouth. she screamed and spit it out in my face. then i saw it. maggots well seasoned and slathered in butter. when the pot bounced off my chest, the bowl, and egg and quick grits, everything crawling ran down or pasted my locks, my stomach, my legs— i got stuck, choking on disgust and a knuckle sandwich.
i do not remember the rest of the day. but it was southern california and i have no doubt the day kept swelling with heat. maybe i took a walk, found a quiet curb to sit on and rationalize the fist in my mouth. wondered, if there was really a proper response to maggots for breakfast served up pretty by an eager lover, wanting to make morning easy and free of wrist twists and new black- and- blues.
4.
looking back there was really nothing extraordinary about it. it was the first day of a new year that held no certainty, but there isn’t always much at twenty-two. i want to say it was unpredictable, i cannot.
but on the eve of this new year when nothing feels quite new at all, this ghost slunk into my house, just to place a memory over my pot. it happens from time to time. it made my jaw ache, a patch of thigh itch. so i stirred in parmesan and cream and to ignore it. crowned the grits with shrimp simmered with citrus and tomato. it was lovely. i have no complaints, but did not finish the bowl. i was too busy eying the spoon.
Recipe:
For the grits:
Boil about 3-4 cups of water (or half water half veg. broth)
add 1 cup stone- ground yellow grits, turn the heat down a notch
stir frequently to keep from sticking and season, add more broth if needed
When grits have softened to your liking turn off the heat
Stir in butter and cheese (cheddar or parmesan)
For the shrimp:
cook shrimp (shell on or off) in a little olive oil when they begin to pink
add cherry tomatoes, lemon juice, chopped garlic, scallions, seasoning and sauté
if you want, add a little broth to make the shrimp mix a little more saucy
when the shrimp is just about ready, turn the grits to low and stir in a little cream.
If the grits are too thick for your liking, add a little water or broth to thin them out.
When you’re ready, plate the grits, place the shrimp on top, add parsley if you like
**As an alternative, you can make a grits-cake. Make the grits earlier in the day, pour them into a greased baking pan and place in the refrigerator until you are ready to use them, at least an hour. Cut the chilled grits into squares and place desired pieces under the broiler until the top is brown and bubbling, then place the shrimp on top.
drea brown is a poet-scholar and author of dear girl: a reckoning, winner of the Gold Line Press 2014 chapbook prize. drea’s forthcoming book, Conjuring the Haint: The Haunting Poetics of Black Women is concerned with haunting and grief, and the impact of these states of being on Black women’s lives and literature.