Manje*

Manje: To eat or food in Haitian Creole

Manje reminds me of sounds-like-taste-like mandible.

The strongest bone in

the mouth. Yielding the jaw to open and

close. The conductor of tongue teeth saliva

coaxing the rice and beans to

mush. My father lets the greasy sauce of chicken onions

scallions red tomato paste slide down the bed of lettuce unto his plate and

Mela and I slurp sauce pwa with yum.

Sabba, the Lord’s Day, is flavored with a table full of macaroni

au gratin, cabrit, diri kole flaky patties stuffed with beef.

The tablecloth white blessed. We dress formal. We

at the Lord’s Table.

“mayi moulen” is what your grandfather eats before he toils

the stubborn land of tom gateau,” my mother says. A native

food of power endurance letting mere mortals push their tired

vessels past the wee hours of morning through mountain chills of night.

I scoop the spoon along the borders circling circling towards such strength the center

too hot for my boyish tongue.

Manje is all we can give.

A gift.

His body is broken the doctors say

the taxi he drove slides against black ice entering 4-way 6p.m traffic

on 5th street. My uncle. His body has become bandages. His lips

barely part when he speaks. Eyelids have become

shells of puss and scars. After a kiss on the cheek we had the plate to his wife.

She gently places a mouthful of diri a janmou on his tongue.

Manje. A calling to the mandible to commence the procession of resuscitation. Take and Eat.

*Manje: To eat or food in Haitian Creole