Gumbo House

I draw your thoughts in the sand 
Using shells to dot “I”s 
and sticks to dot “T”s 
I remember every word 
of your softshell oration 
About how this house was coming back 
even if you had to pry it 
like crab meat from the shell. 

From front porch to crawfish tail, 
this house is old like gumbo. 
The mother sauces 
hold together the roux, 
grandmother Phillips 
holds together the house. 

Six generations of family 
have picked shrimp 
and shelled oysters here. 
They shelled so many 
the driveway was made of shells. 

The kitchen knows its work. 
Its inundated in seafood 
so much that you can smell it 
in the walls.