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For Daddy
V
By Mona Lisa Saloy
My Daddy
loved three families
ours was the second.
He outlived two wives,
buried them in a flow of
tears and beer
long as the Mississippi.
Mostly, I remember lots of
hugs and kisses, snuggling
next to Daddy during the
nightly news on TV after
dinner daily, or him
dancing with my dark chocolate
Mother
all night at the Autocrat Club
on St. Bernard Avenue.
On Fridays in season, we had
crawfish
by the pound, oyster loaves, or
hot sausage sandwiches at Mulés
Restaurant
with draft beer we took home in
a stainless steel pot that
sealed like a canning jar.
Springtime brought cawain,
and daddy's expert taking of its
head,
then gently removing the neck
gland—
a
purple thing of poison if burst.
He
hung the headless turtle, it still
kicking
for three days on the wooden fence,
even
its head snapped for hours in the grass.
Never
lost a cawain, its 21 meat flavors tasting
of beef, pork, fish, and then
some.
The turtle eggs, Mother's
favorite, promised
youth, health, and sexy eyes,
Daddy said.
When he shooed aunts, uncles, and
Mother
out of the kitchen, he blended
herbs for
sauté and his special roux before
stewing.
Big Sunday breakfasts with galait—
stove-top shortening bread—and
homemade
cocoa,
omelets whipped just so, to let Mother sleep late
then
wake us for church. he wouldn't come,
just
said "pray for me, and I'll get to glory."
Go
long so.
* *
* * * posted 26 October 2005 |
