Grimoire

Cherene Sherrard

• Publisher: Autumn House Press
• Year: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781938769610
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

Named after a magical textbook, Cherene Sherrard's Grimoire is a poetry collection centered on the recovery and preservation of ancestral knowledge and on the exploration of black motherhood. Incorporating experiences of food preparation, childrearing, and childbearing, the book begins with a section of poems that re-imagine recipes from one of the earliest cookbooks by an African-American woman: Mrs. Malinda Russell's A Domestic Cookbook. Mrs. Russell's voice as a nineteenth century chef is joined in conversation with a contemporary amateur cook in poetic recipes that take the form of soft and formal sonnets, introspective and historical lyric, and found poems. In the second section, the poet explores black maternal death and the harrowing circumstances surrounding birth for women of color in the United States. Even while confronting the dangers and tragedies of contemporary black life, Sherrard creates hopeful projections of the future. She imagines an afterlife in which souls of black mothers who have died in childbirth get to travel into space with the reluctant help of the astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson, and she positions a doula as a figure of salvation who intervenes and advocates for black mothers, challenging the dehumanizing practices of early obstetrics, genetics, and pseudo-science. Throughout Grimoire, Sherrard explores the precarity of black mothering over the last two centuries and the creative and ingenuous modes of human survival.
 

I.

Miranda, Malinda

I am not the wizard’s daughter.

My father never taught me how

to bewitch a sprite, ensnare

an Indian, or summon storms.

Still, I mistake the receipt book

for a hedge witch’s apothecary:

A Domestic Cook Book by

Malinda Russell, A Woman of Color,

Paw Paw, Michigan, 1866. I am as

struck by the similarity of our names

as by the curiosity of our circumstances.

The correct pronunciation is Mi-rin-da,

not Mir-ran-da. Like Malinda, I have a son

in need of special consideration. We are

far from home. Sales of this book

of sustenance sustain a free woman

plying a trade at the finale of the Civil War.

Well matched are our aims.

To My Followers

The economy of the receipts requires much creativity on my part.

Full disclosure: I am an amateur. Trust I will scrupulously test

any modification before posting to ensure consistent, if not

excellent, results. Where I have substituted, I will make a note

as well as provide the original receipt at the start of each entry.

If your achievements exceed mine, share in the comments,

along with any questions or concerns.

Marble Cake

The White:

My son, ½ cup white flour, ¼ cup brown sugar,

has trouble with fractions. When pregnant

I did not follow instructions, beat the yolks and sugar

together until very light. It was months before I accepted

I was carrying another human being, add ½ pound butter,

whip fourteen egg whites, flavor with lemon, half gill brandy.

The Dark:

The ophthalmologist suspects that he’s color-blind,

½ cup molasses, the yolks of eight eggs. Perhaps

that is why he prefers brown sugar in his oatmeal.

He can’t tell how it’s different from white, flavor with

cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, or mace. I confess,

I palmed the iron pills, drank light roast brews

without sugar or cream. Mixed children usually

come out beautifully. The doctor is unsure about mine.

Paper and butter the pan, first a layer of the white,

then of the dark, alternately finishing with the white.

Wild Yeast

What color is Shakespeare?

To answer, I read my son Dunbar.

First, we recite “We Wear the Mask,”

then “When Malindy Sings.”

We pause at the line

f’om de kitchen to de big woods.

When cooking with Malinda,

her haintly breath is citrus and clove.

Her hands, rough as wind within,

smooth as pears without, guide me

as I knead and read her receipts aloud.

Each line works its alchemy,

solidifies her shade, elevates

the timbre of her voice.

She does not speak the broken tongue

of Paul’s folksy muse.

Penwomanship alone affirms

her education. Not until

the poet delivers Dinah’s arms,

buried elbow-deep in dough,

do I forgive his lyric blasphemy.

Restoring the Hair to Its Original Color

They don’t tell you how it will age you:

the lack of sleep, the cracked nipples,

the constant buzzing, and running

hither and thither. When he was born,

my son’s hair was black and slick.

As he grew, it curled, then bronzed

like his father’s. What started as

a silver streak over my left temple

spread like a platinum coronet.

I dare you to combine two drachms

of Lac Sulphuris with eight ounces

of rose water. Shake thoroughly,

apply every night before bed.

Crossed Stars

For our English unit, I decide on Shakespeare.

We’ll read then write an English sonnet. We’ll go

See Romeo and Juliet at the American Players,

Taking advantage of the homeschool special.

A row of single mothers and our single charges.

The children will sit together, the mothers behind,

Or, the children will sit alternately, a mother between,

Or, we will sit two and two: in pairs, parent and partner.

A matinee sun directly overhead. Discounted

Seats throw no shade. We melt the amphitheater.

Neither hats nor parasols allowed, so mothers fan

Whichever child is on whatever side, and we

Can barely recall whatsoever if it was the moon

Or the nurse or the poison that betrayed the lovers.

Things to Do with Ginger

Three kinds of ginger blent in the bowl

I stir while wearing a white evening gown,

standard wardrobe issue for Ginger Grant.

All one needs on a desert island. Of all

the castaways, she is the one whose body,

stretched into sequins of ...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Table of Contents
• I.
• II.
• Notes
• Acknowledgments