Freedom [an Open Letter]

Noodle noosed in cheesed macaroni dalliances
Freedom tastes like we never knew who we were
Fried in white washed ho-cakes
We gorge tall tales of master’s remnants
Carpet bag leftovers
Hunt for complacent collard green dreams
Sojourn truth in watermelon rinds and bread line hand outs
Dabble off china patterned stereotypes
We dish legacy in sambo battered hope because
Freedom tastes like we never knew who we were
Compressed to blissed ignorance
Waffle history in syruped hand-me-downs
Wondering why our children just play chicken to success
Calling the dozens for support and always housebound with egg on their faces
Teaching them that take-out is the way out; a step up
Proving their not bottom feeders
Not knowing they’re just feeding off the bottom of others home cooked desires
Braised; grape balmed
Bottle canned idioms
Shake ‘n baked to fizz through pours
Ponder why clutched purses dredge injustice 

Freedom tastes like we never knew who we were
Because we lap bland promises
And salted neverminds of “we’ll get there soon”
Without doing the work
Step into the kitchen
Carve intended destiny to the small of tainted tomes
Remedy rancid rectal recipes 
We’re more than the muted mélange of safe hued attainments 
Blood soaked mountaintops
Or pistol sieved speakeasies 
Meet
Marinade 
Medallion mendacities
Block chop fettered portraits flavored in forced subordination 
Stock verity; al dente 
Firm in the belief that seared memories are just as palette-able
Simmer to raw bone
Marrow nape-d
Brazed royally
It’s alright to be savored medium-well
So, invite Harriet to the table when company comes
…she’s been waiting…