PASSER UN BON TEMPS
When the wind whispers
through cane country
down near Breaux Bridge,
the Louisiana French
rolls off tongues
and flows slowly over syllables
extending vowels long
resonating between the ears.
The wind pelts the car window
as we delve farther into St. Landry Parish
down near Opelousas,
where the ancient trees turn formidable
and drip with spindly Spanish moss
to dim and enclose the rutted dirt road.
On one side of the road is the bayou,
swamp water thick as swirling mud,
the green sludge concealing a jambalaya
rich with shrimp and crawdads.
We knew the buildings wouldn't exist
as the caravan of cars pulled off the road.
It was razed years before
my mother was born.
But this was a place you could feel
just by standing
where our ancestors
once stood.
We share a bag of cracklins,
pork skins expertly crisp and soft,
back and forth
as we watch the waving cane
bend in the wind
and mull over the spot
where Grampa's saloon
and general store once dwelt.
Each one of us cousins
with opinions as strong
as the legacy left remaining.
THE END
when the tornado hit
the wind shoved
and spun and swirled
all our things
inside out
life still reeling
from the force of nature
i realized i’d never
again stand in a place
you stood
sat in a rocker
you also rocked
touched wallpaper
your fingers also grazed
a parallel to one dawn
when i left
by the front door
and in two shakes
you were gone
and so was the house
where we once lived
together
in a fleeting moment
the wind blew on
Phyllis Hemann grew up reading and telling stories. As a child, she scribbled poems with crayons. Now she writes her own for children and adults. She studied creative writing and theology, and holds a M.F.A. from Antioch University Los Angeles. Her work has appeared in newspapers, journals and anthologies. She is the author of THE INVISIBLE HEROINE (Finishing Line Press). She lives in Arkansas with her family and goofy dog. Find her online @phyllishemann and phyllishemann.com.
through cane country
down near Breaux Bridge,
the Louisiana French
rolls off tongues
and flows slowly over syllables
extending vowels long
resonating between the ears.
The wind pelts the car window
as we delve farther into St. Landry Parish
down near Opelousas,
where the ancient trees turn formidable
and drip with spindly Spanish moss
to dim and enclose the rutted dirt road.
On one side of the road is the bayou,
swamp water thick as swirling mud,
the green sludge concealing a jambalaya
rich with shrimp and crawdads.
We knew the buildings wouldn't exist
as the caravan of cars pulled off the road.
It was razed years before
my mother was born.
But this was a place you could feel
just by standing
where our ancestors
once stood.
We share a bag of cracklins,
pork skins expertly crisp and soft,
back and forth
as we watch the waving cane
bend in the wind
and mull over the spot
where Grampa's saloon
and general store once dwelt.
Each one of us cousins
with opinions as strong
as the legacy left remaining.
THE END
when the tornado hit
the wind shoved
and spun and swirled
all our things
inside out
life still reeling
from the force of nature
i realized i’d never
again stand in a place
you stood
sat in a rocker
you also rocked
touched wallpaper
your fingers also grazed
a parallel to one dawn
when i left
by the front door
and in two shakes
you were gone
and so was the house
where we once lived
together
in a fleeting moment
the wind blew on
Phyllis Hemann grew up reading and telling stories. As a child, she scribbled poems with crayons. Now she writes her own for children and adults. She studied creative writing and theology, and holds a M.F.A. from Antioch University Los Angeles. Her work has appeared in newspapers, journals and anthologies. She is the author of THE INVISIBLE HEROINE (Finishing Line Press). She lives in Arkansas with her family and goofy dog. Find her online @phyllishemann and phyllishemann.com.
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