JAMBALAYA PEOPLE is the beginning of my novel. it's movin' on to Mardi Gras soon enough...we'll work our way toward that time, then....

JAMBALAYA PEOPLE

Lost Litanies of roux and tasso
Smoked turkey necks and sweet
Hot sausages from that old
Smokehouse out back looks like
Dark, dark chocolate after an hour
Stirrin', stirrin' with the wooded
Spoon from Gramma's drawer the
One that sticks in the ol' kitchen
Where ya still pump the water into
That tin sink where they still bathe
Babies in the mornin' cuz it's huge
and the rubber stopper holds fine.

You can't really take the South out of
Me on account of my Dad
Dad is in there with Grits and shiney poached
Eggs with the yolks wigglin' like they was
Alive and Gumbo with okra or file' sassafras
Jambalayas with the chicken and sausage almost
Hot but the Heat so charmed almost a hundredt
other flavors hit your tongue and you breathe out
Lah, Cher. That Good Jambalaya.
Fry up them green tamatas over there, honey.
Bake that Cornbread fine with a bit of grit in butter
Every Bite: a Taste of What You Should Know.
But do not.
Ain't enough South in me to be Real.
Still: Tastes Real...
When I brown up that Roux
My Wooded Spoon
Knowin' Jus What To Do
Not knowin' Many of them Words
But bein' able to Hum the Song
Soft as a Bayou Breeze
Humble as a Bayou Rain