Shrimp 'N' Grits
That’s the best I got, and it’s pretty good.
Don’t trouble me about grease ‘n’ fat clogging my heart, or gluten slogging my joints. My guts and limbs are fine, thank you.
My girlfriend is in the hospital with weird cells in her brain. Her speech affected, surgery done, treatments to follow.
My first shrimp ‘n’ grits was at her house one Monday night, not long after I’d arrived on the Outer Banks and started at church. That night, I was first to receive the dish of grits from her hand, either because I was new or maybe because I happened to be on her left. And though I’ve been to Paris, I had to ask how to arrange such opulent foods on my plate.
Oh glorious butter and cheese-infused grits; ye plump shrimp browned in Wondra and bacon fat. How to eat ye? This I pondered, there in candle-lit dining communion at her table.
I’m a fast learner, and my new friend was kind to instruct me to place grits, then shrimp on top or to the side, as I prefer. She’s a natural, generous diva of love, and these years later, I still love her with all my heart.
This is what’s divine, what’s real and what I live for. Moments with friends are the very food of God.
Are seconds allowed?
Why yes, and thirds too. Have as much as you want. Such are the shrimp ‘n’ grits of love.
Sharon Keene
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