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The city where Grandma splashes spices
In her vessel. 3 tablespoons of flour and oil, 1/2 pound smoked
Sausage, sliced to fit, 1 pound boneless chicken thighs
Cut in bite-size pieces, and 2 cups of frozen cut okra,
The creation is almost finished.
Poured in a plastic wrap the soup
Flows like a flush,
Until the white grain is added.
Yum!
The city where the different cultures had intercourse,
Birthing a child later named jazz.
Where on every corner instruments told a story,
A story we second lined to, to celebrate death, marriage,
And birth.
The city that’s stuck in a bowl with oceans crowded around for miles,
Until the water embraced it
Cleansing the sins away, creating a new beginning,
This is my city, the city I call home.
