I ate my father last night. Let me explain. I think this is true: During the Great Depression, some Oklahoma folks got all fancy and aspirational as a way of escaping the realities they faced, and one of the ways this took root was adopting aspects of French culture.

I believe this happened more broadly than in Oklahoma, but right now I’m in Oklahoma talking about Oklahoma and my people, who are from Oklahoma. Even if it’s not true, I can say with certainty that both sides of my family did the whole faux-French thing around that time. My mother was named after Mignon Laird, a silent film star from Cheyenne, Oklahoma. My father was named Jacque Dwayne, which he later changed to Jack Wayne.

The only problem is—and I have checked this on his birth certificate—my paternal grandparents did not know French, so they spelled their son’s name Jacque. That means he was named after the tropical fruit, the jackfruit, not given the actual French name, Jacques. How do you like them apples?

I’ve been meaning to have jackfruit ever since I learned about that naming snafu. Oklahoma heard me and provided, as it has so many times during this trip. Guess what was on the menu at Inheritance Juicery, where I read last night? Jackfruit enchiladas. I got them. I ate them. I thought about my father as fruit. Then I thought about this poem from my collection No Sea Here (Moon in the Rye Press). It’s kind of the times we’re living in and, I hope, live through and beyond.

Anyway, I have leftovers of my father. I think I’ll eat him again for brekkie. It’s a beautiful day. Hell, I love everybody.*

—

Sermon

If a man is in a fruit, then when the fruit is taken and blessed, it is redeemed.
— Rabbi Amnon

If a woman is in a lake, then when the lake
is drained and filled in, it is rescued from water.

If a generation of boys is in trees, then when the trees
are felled and milled, the forest is delivered from shade.

If a party of lost girls darkens the air, then when the air
swells with toxins and haze, the sky is liberated from breath.

If a grandfather is in the soil, then when the soil
is dry and bare, the ground is saved from production.

If a grandmother is in the body, then when the body
is scathed and broken down, it is released from its own ruin.

If a man is in an apple, then when the fruit is thieved
and cleaved it is redeemed from the curse of being a man.

—

* Yes, I am referencing James Tate’s “Goodtime Jesus,” which I think about all the damn time.