• The Incandescent

The Brownie Recipe

for this particular recipe, we don’t speak Betty Crocker’s pre-packaged tongue // direct yourself to the baking aisle of the local grocery store // and you’ll discover a bag of cocoa powder hidden beneath the Alps // while you’re at it, go ahead and grab some sugar // brown sugar // the color of almonds baking in a copper sun // containing that finger licking sweetness that’ll make a diabetic reconsider the finer things they’ve missed out on// make sure to call your best friend and remind her of the hook up she got you with the coconut oil her brother’s girlfriend’s uncle’s third cousin twice removed, great nephew’s fourth wife, Nicole, imported from Jamaica for half off // on the way to the checkout line, you’ll come across the Reese’s peanut butter cups you’ve been craving since last week // when you saw that commercial of a chocolate Easter bunny kissing a jar of peanut butter while Marvin Gaye croons “Let’s Get It On” // but before you can add it to your bugey, allow your eyes to wander over to a teddy bear shaped bottle of honey you put in your chamomile tea when your evil twin parts the Red Sea for a monthly visit from hell // you’ll thank me later // oh I almost forgot, you have finals next week and a couple of all nighters are calling your name // so it might be in your best interest to retrace your steps the cookie aisle where a crinkly blue package of Oreos reclines in a nest of crunchy delicacies // anyway, back to the recipe // drive home in the battered mahogany Rolls Royce your granddaddy bought from a marshmallow colored brother down in New Orleans named Platinum Bordeaux back in ‘77 // stop at a prolonged red light near your salon (btw it’s time for a touch up) // when your phone rings with a text message from Sonic letting you know that Happy Hour is right around the corner and that new caramel cookie dough ice cream is a limited edition // so you make a quick stop at the drive in // climb out of your forefathers most prized possession // careful not to damage the paint, you just got a fresh coat Saturday at the car wash // sit on the red patio tables organized in a quad where you can watch the sunset and the amalgamations of pink rising from the sky’s atmosphere // however, a silhouette of a man will block your view to provide you with an even better one // his blue black skin glistening in rays like a fleeing river in midnight // smile fortifying your tentative faith in God and who knows this could possibly be him in final form // cause he’s nothing but grandeur in his walk // like the Champion durag draped over his head that resembles the Pan-African flag //epiphanies begin to do cartwheels in your cranium when you recall a certain IG handle your little sister introduced you to // property of an immaculate conception. named Bekele Daba, a foreign exchange student from Ethiopia who studies anesthesiology at State so he can leave something bigger than himself at the altar of this waning city // wait a minute Bekele has his right hand man flocking him at 2 o’clock // a lean cup of coffee with ginger hair and freckles to match starts snickering to himself when you realize you’ve been staring at them for at least a minute with your mouth gaping // this will be one of those stories you tell your children when the world collapses and the only remnants of hope is nostalgia // about how you and Dad met during a solstice that made you completely forget about making brownies...


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Bio: Alana Brown-Davis is a rising junior from a small town in Mississippi. She is a Capricorn with a love for anime, her friends, and all things hip-hop.


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Note: photo credit to Wix


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