Week 2

“Jazz, Fried Okra Afternoon”
by Devan Cook

Fried okra, hot coffee, bacon grease melting in black iron skillet from the drippings can on the stove, jazz on the radio, mid-afternoon, sun behind the little live oak with the three trunks that shades the trailer, windows open, dirty screens, two horses outside asleep beside the viburnum hedge, 85 degrees, breeze from the woods, okra from the woods garden. Flowers like cotton, like sticky fuzz. Okra comes from Africa. Cut the pods every day. Slice young and tender into rounds, 1/4 inch wide, roll in meal and egg and meal again. Salt and pepper, red pepper too. Fry in hot bacon grease and stand back: it spits. Eat with green beans, green onions, bacon, corn bread with lots of butter, coffee: strong, hot, black.
Black iron skillet. Jazz on the radio. Shoes off, air thickening in the kitchen, dark, heat from cooking lingers around the stove. Wash dishes. Windows face west: watermelon red sunset lights the stove, then faces, then the last green line before it’s over. Sun sinks into the woods—vines cover it. Sun buries in old leaves. The trailer cracks and settles, letting the heat go, rise. Dogs wander off toward the woods. Swallows above the barn and garden, then sounds of the first whippoorwills and a hoot owl in the woods where a breeze rises. Birds. Children catch fireflies. We sit on the steps and listen.
Breezes rise. Open doors and windows, breath, blow through the whole hot place, bacon smells, coffee, okra, corn meal, jelly smeared on the bedspread covering the couch, blow into the bedrooms in back. Cooler now. Stained curtains puff. Heat lightning, clouds stack toward the west, the Gulf, over the woods. Baths, clean white cotton pajamas folded flat under white cotton pillowcases, sheets stretched taut over still warm beds, spreads folded down to air bedding. Smell of sun, light, grass, bleach. Children eat cookies and drink kool-aid. Dark is think and sweet, muscadines ripen behind the barn, woods move toward the road. Lights on in the house above the pasture. Dust settles on road, leaves. Another hoot owl answers the first, fireflies hover, doors close, lights out. Lightning closer now, leaves scratch screens, breeze over beds. Dogs under the trailer. Rain’s coming.

∑ List the foods different members of your family like. Choose one and have the person eat that food.

∑ Write about eating in relation to times of day—morning, noon, night, late night, while traveling, while doing something else.

∑ In the above selection, Cook joins two ideas: jazz and food. Do the same with food and something else. Maybe a different style of music, or sports, or relatives…whatever you like.


For next week:

Long Assignment: 750 words
Choose one and write about it. If you can, please type it up. If you want, submit it to the website.

∑ Write the "story" about yourself that you tell strangers.

∑ Holidays are often landmines. Family gatherings can trigger some pretty interesting old memories and their accompanying tensions. Write about such a memory/tension, but try to find the humor in it.

∑ Talk to your grandparents. Ask them what it was like at the dinnertable when they were 10 or 15. Write a descriptive narrative in which you "recall" a dinner at your grandparent's table.

∑ A young friend of mine carries with her the blue collar worn by her dog who was put to sleep. She tells me she would be devastated if she lost it, but yet she carries it with her. Do you have something like the dog collar that you carry with you? Write a short narration/description about the item and its significance.

∑ Write a scene of a very early, vivid memory. What are the odd details? What in this scene seems to matter to you? What are you leaving out? If you get stuck, keep repeating the phrase “I remember” to start off your sentences.

∑ How many firsts can you remember in your life? The first meal you remember enjoying. The first book you read. The first music you bought. The first time you rode a bike. Pick one and write about it.



Bring a small box of things that mean something to you. As many as you want. They should be somewhat small, so we aren’t overcrowded. If you have something large, see if you can bring a piece of it, something that can stand for it. For example, instead of bringing the whole guitar, just bring a guitar pick.