Creating History ©
An entire culture: redactions written in:
our answers without questions.
We built this land
based on places never seen,
les rues de France,
or ones we cannot know for sure belong to us.
Las calles de España. Creole.
Cajun, depending on what your ancestors looked like.
We twist knots
from some of the past that stuck,
Acadians who roamed down the Mississippi,
stories told of people who created a new one.
A tongue that sounds like the chewed up words of those it’s built atop.
Languages lost but their rhythms remain,
hymns to praise, blues to move us,
zydeco to keep our hearts pounding,
chants to ward off evil spirits.
Superstitions run in our blood line from many sides,
Africans left behind, disturbed Natives.
They did not know they were creating a new order, culture, cuisine,
bubbled up from the very swamp itself:
A tale of the bayou.
our answers without questions.
We built this land
based on places never seen,
les rues de France,
or ones we cannot know for sure belong to us.
Las calles de España. Creole.
Cajun, depending on what your ancestors looked like.
We twist knots
from some of the past that stuck,
Acadians who roamed down the Mississippi,
stories told of people who created a new one.
A tongue that sounds like the chewed up words of those it’s built atop.
Languages lost but their rhythms remain,
hymns to praise, blues to move us,
zydeco to keep our hearts pounding,
chants to ward off evil spirits.
Superstitions run in our blood line from many sides,
Africans left behind, disturbed Natives.
They did not know they were creating a new order, culture, cuisine,
bubbled up from the very swamp itself:
A tale of the bayou.
Grandparents kissing before his surgery ©
And I always figured
I’d have a marriage like theirs.
Words go unspoken but not unheard
and love never has to announce itself
because it’s resting comfortably
in an easy chair
snoring at the 8 o’clock news.
I’d have a marriage like theirs.
Words go unspoken but not unheard
and love never has to announce itself
because it’s resting comfortably
in an easy chair
snoring at the 8 o’clock news.
Dust ©
The dust on the table says mom’s been gone
for days and the children are too busy being busy
to realize what needs to be done to keep mom’s prized possessions in order.
See, she likes her pots from biggest to smallest;
so she can know which one fits perfectly for her meals
and to know when one
is missing.
The dish cloth is always on the hook by the stove. It changes weekly
but the children cannot understand where it
goes and how
it comes back.
Her mother’s wooden spoons are in the drawer
next to her recipes.
She keeps the gumbo pot underneath
Hoping one day to fill it.
The kids see her order but not her logic.
They do not remember she whispered the truest words to her belly
Forgive me for I have sinned but you are not my sin.
Once their hearts beat as one; the children have forgotten.
Her absence is not abandonment
but necessity.
Money requires her to roam to cities unknown to them.
To be able to put food
in that gumbo pot.
In the cabinet beneath the wooden spoons
Next to the drawer of recipes
Across from the stove below the dishtowel
By the table that collects the dust of their flesh.
for days and the children are too busy being busy
to realize what needs to be done to keep mom’s prized possessions in order.
See, she likes her pots from biggest to smallest;
so she can know which one fits perfectly for her meals
and to know when one
is missing.
The dish cloth is always on the hook by the stove. It changes weekly
but the children cannot understand where it
goes and how
it comes back.
Her mother’s wooden spoons are in the drawer
next to her recipes.
She keeps the gumbo pot underneath
Hoping one day to fill it.
The kids see her order but not her logic.
They do not remember she whispered the truest words to her belly
Forgive me for I have sinned but you are not my sin.
Once their hearts beat as one; the children have forgotten.
Her absence is not abandonment
but necessity.
Money requires her to roam to cities unknown to them.
To be able to put food
in that gumbo pot.
In the cabinet beneath the wooden spoons
Next to the drawer of recipes
Across from the stove below the dishtowel
By the table that collects the dust of their flesh.