I am from

I am from
By Alexis Mouledoux

I am from strawberry snoballs,
lips stained red.
Air so thick you drink it.

I am from the unrelenting buzz of cicadas at dusk.
Backyard pool parties, saving june bugs
Shouting "shotgun" for the front seat.

I am from, "I told you so"
And, "That's not fair."
Cold lima beans left uneaten.

I am from Dad's jambalaya
and Ledo's minestrone soup.
Sunday mass and Monday night football.

I am from oak trees lining the Avenue
brass bands on Canal.
the ever tangible gift of possibility.

I am from a city forsaken
swollen and steeped in the deluge
destroyed then redeemed.