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