Old Gumbo Recipe

Put in okra that thickens
things up as only mud can,
when it sets its mind to it,
stuck-in-the-mud soup,

or up-to-your-neck-in-mud soup.
There are spoons and animals
that won’t even fight it,
but would rather swim away,

muskrat, alligator, snake.
The plot and the dark
roux thicken the brew then,
as if this were a troubled

swamp right in your pot.
I haven’t mentioned the salt
and the pepper, allies in
spicing soups up with

their own one-two punch.
I haven’t mentioned the clouds
of flour fuming on the horizon,
or the leftovers, old bones

and their pathetic scraps
of meat that you must never
forget, or they will come
back to haunt you because

this is a gumbo about memory,
and the need for continuity,
and the power of breath
behind it that makes us stir.

*Sue Owen, the former Poet-in-Residence at LSU, is the author of four books of poetry: NURSERY RHYMES FOR THE DEAD, THE BOOK OF WINTER, MY DOOMSDAY SAMPLER, and the forthcoming THE DEVIL'S COOKBOOK (LSU Press, 2007).