The bayous hold secrets

hidden in the marshes,

hanging in suspense and lingering,

in the hot, sticky Louisiana air

yearning to speak to us

in labored breathes

of the past

of the saints and the crying virgin

of the gris-gris worn by the Senegals

and the smell of gumbo cooking in iron pots over a fire

The bayous hold secrets

Spirits wander through the cemeteries

Standing over the offerings of ancient candles, food and rosaries placed on graves consumed by time

Fading pictures of a smiling mulatresse

stares back at us, frozen in time in a crumbling frame

enticing us with her Creole charm

Can you hear the sound of accordions and violins playing into the night!?

The relentless, rhythmic beat of the talking Congo drums

The mischievous laughter of Lapin outwitting his foes

The roar of the Rougarou in the dark woods,

Where the Sauvage sought shelter from ancient storms

Where the bones of the French, the African, the Spanish and the Creoles rest in shallow graves

Le Kreyol Louisiane!

They whisper..



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Rodney Sam

Writer and artist with musings on Art, history, genealogy, culture,the humanities with short stories and poems