Collard Greens and Kaddish
A mother grapples with her own mother's fading memory and acceptance, while finding strength in unlikely places. Fox’s poems blend the flavors of Texas cooking with the rituals of Jewish mourning, creating a unique portrait of healing and liberation.
GLOSSAL PSALM
winter in texas means game shows and s’mores.
my mother and children squabble over “wheel of fortune.” she solves the puzzle first,
she always does, laughing—
“what a shame,” she says, “no prize for winning against family.”
my mother can beat us at all crossword puzzles, she
is a master of filling in blanks when it comes
to language,
at least.
but lately she can’t remember that my younger son likes
blueberries, not blackberries, even though
she bought the blueberries
in the fridge.
bought a whole pound of blueberries. for him.
then forgot.
lately she can’t remember that it’s a good thing to love your child
even if they’re queer as hell.
i step outside onto the porch and ignore the
blanks in a word that starts
with “a-l-z” and ends with an “s” and
haunts my father
with the face of
His
father.
winter in texas means silver stars and darker spaces.
i wonder if i am, in fact, a werewolf because that
starlight blows right through me and
my “i’m fine, this is fine” bullshit.
winter in texas means someone over the next hill
is burning leaves. i see gray smudge the moon.
smoke licks the oaks like a lover leaving.
i say kaddish with a coyote minyan.
just last week your oregon sun lit up my
white breakfast plate,
persimmon pit made gemmy by ripe and pulp gloss
like my clitoris in your mouth,
like embers under ash,
like the first breath after an orgasm,
like my heart in your hands,
like the blank of a future
my mother will not remember
and can’t win.
BLESSING FOR A LIBERATION
turkey necks, smoked, make a damn fine
replacement for ham hocks—
this is how i make my mother’s
piney woods collards jewish,
with the outcast, the discard.
if you aren’t using turkey necks,
you’re missing out.
like every man i’ve ever known,
y’all too focused on breasts and thighs.
you laugh! but the naked truth is,
turkey necks are cheap.
after the divorce, i am trying to save
money however i can.
he never bruised me in a visibly purple way,
but he does like to watch me suffer.
he always did. he was just quiet about it
and people only notice violence
when it’s loud.
so now i cook up cheap bean pots and fried cornbread
and jewish collards,
and i sing my jagged songs
over the bones i
want.
About the author
Elisheva Fox is a poet with roots firmly planted in Texan soil. A finalist for the Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Prize and the Patty Friedman Writing Competition, she has been nominated for Best of the Net. Her work appears in Rust + Moth, Paper Brigade, Strange Horizons, and Lavender Review, among others, and her first full length collection,Spellbook for the Sabbath Queen, was selected by Jewish Women’s Archive for their 2023-2024 Book Club.