Psalm 23 King James Version (Jonah, Diego D., Karina, Carlos)

Psalm 23 King James Version (KJV)

23 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

https://www.aft.org/sites/default/files/periodicals/Waddell_0.pdf

The Arrow and the Song -by Henry W. Longfellow (Jacob T, Lauren, Irene, Kael)

The Arrow and the Song by Henry W. Longfellow

I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight

Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For who has sight so keen and strong

That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak

I found the arrow, still unbroke;

And the song, from beginning to end,

I found again in the heart of a friend.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (Jenna, Alyssa, Shiloh)

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

https://www.aft.org/sites/default/files/periodicals/Waddell_0.pdf

“Hope” is the thing with feathers (Jacob S, Raheem, Kennedy, Julian, Catherine)

“Hope” is the thing with feathers 

BY EMILY DICKINSON

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Trees - by Joyce Kilmer (Zoe & Andre & Emile)

Trees by Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree. 

April Rain Song by Langston Hughes (Marie, Krista, Jocelyn, Juan)

April Rain Song

  by Langston Hughes

Let the rain kiss you 

Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops 

Let the rain sing you a lullaby 

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk 

The rain makes running pools in the gutter 

The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night 

And I love the rain. 

Poetry

Every student in our IEW class has been given a poem to memorize. Poems should be memorized by September 19, 2018.

Have you ever considered the benefits of poetry?  There are quite a few! 

"The way the words roll off the tongue, it’s as if a poem craves to be spoken aloud. The rhyme, the meter, the emotion. Not satisfied with merely being read silently, a poem comes to life when it is spoken.*

"Even after almost three millennia of written literature, poetry retains its appeal to the ear as well as to the eye; to hear a poem read aloud by someone who understands it, and who wishes to share that understanding with someone else, can be a crucial experience, instructing the silently reading eye ever thereafter to hear what it is seeing. Better yet is reading aloud that way oneself." **

sources:

IEW article by *Jennifer Mauser 

**Poets.org

Fog, by Carl August Sandburg (Overview)

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on. 

Carl Sandburg

Carl Sandburg's poem, "Fog," is among the few exceptions that mark Sandburg's break from free verse poetry. Fog", a mere six lines long, is written in verse-form and is an innocent expression of finding beauty in an ordinary world.

The poem begins with the simple line, The fog comes / on little cat feet. The narrator is comparing the movement of the fog to the silent, spry footsteps of a cat, an animal who is able to creep toward its destination without warning. Fog often arrives quickly, yet completely, as it covers a city or a harbor. Akin to a cat who does as it pleases, fog obeys no rules, often shrouding the surroundings like a blanket that does not allow any light. The cat is the ultimate stealth machine in the warm-blooded animal world, moving silently through its world much as the fog does through its.

The narrator further develops the comparison between cat and fog in the second stanza of the poem. In this stanza, the fog has arrived above the city where It sits looking / over harbor and city much as a cat does when it arrives at its destination. The cat will sit and look out over the land or cityscape. Cats, from wild to domesticated, have a habit, maybe an instinct, of looking over their surroundings from elevated spots. For example, the cougar watches from the mountaintop or ledge, the lion from a hill overlooks the plains, and the house cat gazes from a tree branch or window ledge. In each case, the cat acts as if it is the master of its universe, yet it holds many secrets that are never revealed. Cats are notoriously fickle, refusing to be trained or to succumb to others' expectations of them. Similarly, the fog, because of its power and mystery, remains elusive to those wishing to break through its impenetrable walls.

Next, the narrator states that the fog is sitting on silent haunches as it looks out over the harbor and city, and, indeed, few creatures can sit as silently and patiently as the cat. Cats typically sit on their haunches as they stare out at the world. This particular stance, unique to the cat, enables them to keep watch over their surroundings, but also be ready to take off if necessary. When a cat is on its haunches, they cannot be captured because it is easy for them to escape with a quick jump. This stance also implies that their presence is always temporary. Cats, like fog, are always ready to move on when it pleases them.

Finally, the narrator explains that after looking over harbor and city the fog then moves on. Cats are known to be wandering creatures, stopping for a time and then moving on from destination to destination. Again, the fog is compared to the cat in that the fog hovers silently, but it never stays in one place too long.   Fog either rolls on to another destination or disappears altogether.

Source: "'Fog'," in Literature Resource Center, Gale Research, 1999. Source Database: Literature Resource Center Copyright (c) 2001 by Gale Group . All rights reserved. Gale Group is a Thomson Corporation Company.

Author: Carl (august) Sandburg (1878-1967) also known as: Carl Sandburg, Carl (August) Sandburg, Carl August Sandburg, Jack Phillips, Charles Sandburg, and Charles A. Sandburg Date: 1916

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
LINES 1 & 2

The fog comes 
on little cat feet.

• Sandburg isn't wasting any time. We get the subject and the metaphor within these first two lines that compare the fog to a cat without using the words "like" or "as." The effect is one that gets us imagining the fog in a catlike way right from the beginning.
• Imagine if these lines were a simile instead, and read something like this: "The fog comes as if it has little cat feet." Notice the big difference between the original metaphor and our simile. The former is much more direct and powerful while the latter is a bit subtler and doesn't really fuse the cat and fog into one solid image. 
• So although we know this is a short poem, we can already see the devices Sandburg is using to most effectively get his ideas across in a limited amount of time.
• The arrival of the fog in the first line gives the impression that it's moving slowly towards us. It's not jumping or throwing itself at us, rather it "comes" in a gradual sort of way.
• Notice too that the cat-fog seems to be creeping up on us, just like a cat. It has "little cat feet" which kind of sounds like it's tiptoeing towards us without anyone suspecting it. 
• The enjambment between lines 1 and 2 not only creates a fluid sound for the metaphor, but also gets that image of a cat-fog across without any punctuation interruptions. So the speaker is making the most of his time here while mimicking the gradual movement of the fog. 
• The connotation of the word "little" also serves to emphasize its sneaky, creeping, and quiet arrival. If it instead had "big" feet or just read as "cat feet," the creeping connotation wouldn't be as obvious to us, right?
• By the end of line 2 we have the image and metaphor of the creeping catlike fog settled pretty neatly in our minds, and that period serves to provide a moment to pause and fully appreciate the metaphor. 
• Even if you stop reading here, we're pretty sure the next time you see a fog approaching in the distance you'll think of this metaphor. So Sandburg has done a lot in only two lines.

• Enjambment occurs when a phrase carries over a line-break without a major pause. In French, the word means "straddling," which we think is a perfect way to envision an enjambed line. When you read an enjambed line, the sense of it encourages you to keep right on reading the next line, without stopping for a breather.

• Connotation is the suggestive meaning of a word, and all of the cultural associations it brings up. 
• Two words can mean exactly the same thing and have wildly different connotations. For example, if you call someone economical, it's a polite, positive way of saying they're smart with money. If you call them cheap or stingy, well that's just plain rude. 
• It goes the other way, too. One word can have different connotations, depending on the context and cultural experiences of the person writing it or the person reading it. For some people, the word intellectual refers to a smart person, and that's a good thing, right? But for others, intellectual can connote elitism, snobbishness, and all sorts of other not-so-good things.
• Think of connotation as the murky haze hanging around the literal meaning of a word. Trying to figure out connotations of words can be one of the most confusing and rewarding aspects of reading literature.

LINES 3 & 4

It sits looking 
over harbor and city

• By line 3 we notice the fog isn't moving anymore. It's sitting and "looking" over the harbor and city, which tells us it's covering more space now. So it's not just on its way anymore. It's here.
• We can also feel a passing of time that's occurred since we're now at the start of a new line that indicates a change in the appearance of the fog. It's almost as if we've moved with it.
• When we imagine the metaphor of a fog looking catlike, we can actually see the fog here "sitting" as a cat would, kind of sprawled out a bit (depending on how many treats it's had) and taking up way too much room on the foot of our bed, so to speak.
• So by now the fog is hovering over the harbor and city checking out the scenery as a cat might. We know that fog tends to accumulate a lot more near harbors, adding to that sitting, catlike shape it seems to have once it's settled over an area. 
• There's more enjambment too between lines 3 and 4, which just like last time, keeps the flow of the metaphor and image without any distractions that come with punctuation. No stops, no pauses.
• What about the mood? Is there something ominous, maybe even frightening about these lines? We can almost feel it watching us, even if we're not there. It's "over" us which adds to that looming, impending sense of uncertainty and perhaps fear. When things are "over," or above us, we tend to feel more vulnerable.
• And again, just like a cat, we're not sure what that fog will do. It could pounce at any moment or just slink away into the shadows. But since it's "looking" over us, we get the sense that there is a possibility of danger in its presence.
• The word "city" also gives the impression that we're not the only ones vulnerable to that fog. There are many more people there too who may be just as anxious and curious as to what the fog will do next. Check out the "Setting" section for more.

LINES 5 & 6

on silent haunches 
and then moves on.

• Sandburg is extending the metaphor of the fog looking catlike by including this line of it sitting and looking "on silent haunches." Haunches are kind of like a cat's thighs, and they're the parts that enable kitty to jump and pounce as far as she'd like to.
• Notice too the repetition of the word "on" that we saw first in line 2 and see again here in line 5. It seems the speaker is really keeping the metaphor of the cat-fog together by reminding us that the two are fused into this one image. The fog is "on" little cat feet and "on" silent haunches. 
• What do we make of the image of "silent haunches?" Maybe the word "silent" adds to the mysterious ways of the fog and its unpredictability. And perhaps the word "haunches" reminds us of the possibility of it moving in a quick, powerful, and equally unpredictable way. Put them together and we got ourselves a powerful and potentially dangerous weather system that may be a symbol for some bigger ideas.
• We get more enjambment too in these lines. In fact, the entire second half of the poem is combined into one continuous image and thought. 
• The line break between 5 and 6 heightens our sense of anxiety as to what the fog will do next. Maybe it will pounce on our heads, maybe it will move on. But that break nonetheless makes us pause and dangles all possibilities over our heads. 
• By line 6 we learn that the cat-fog is on the move again. Sigh of relief. It's using those "silent haunches" to move elsewhere, though we're not sure what the point of destination is. But we do know it's moving and could pounce on another harbor/city if it chooses to.
• Consider though the dramatic change of mood that occurs between these last two lines. Within seconds we go from feeling anxious to somewhat relieved. 
• So how the heck did Sandburg manage to do all of this in only two lines? It's not just because the guy's a poetry wiz… 
• If we take a step back and consider all of the devices we've made note of, we begin to see that the effect is a combination of simple and yet poignant words that create a sense of unpredictability, danger, and power: "silent haunches." Then he has a line break that heightens our sense of anxiety and wonder. And finally we get that concluding image of the cat-fog moving on while we breathe a sigh of relief.
• So not only do we end the poem with an awesome image/metaphor in mind, but we also feel as if we've been taken for an emotional rollercoaster that lasted all of ten seconds. 
• We may also think about all of the things that happen in our lives in the same sort of way that the fog seems to creep up on us and then suddenly disappear.
• And last, but not least, we notice the repetition of that word "on" again at the very end of line 6. Sandburg appears to be keeping his metaphor very neat and solidly fused into this one image of a cat-fog. It looks like a cat and "moves on" as cat. There's no deviating from that image which makes the entire poem resonate in our minds even more.

http://www.shmoop.com/fog-sandburg/stanza-1-summary.html

http://www.shmoop.com/fog-sandburg/analysis.html

due Friday, April 12, 2013 (Where I'm From)

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Where I'm From

Template This template has been used in writing assignments at the Campbell Folk School in North Carolina, Lisa Davis' Colorado Class, and Mrs. Cortez's 2012-13 IEW Class.

1• I am from _______ (specific ordinary item), from _______ (product name) and _______.
2• I am from the _______ (home description... adjective, adjective, sensory detail).
3• I am from the _______ (plant, flower, natural item), the _______ (plant, flower, natural detail)
4• I am from _______ (family tradition) and _______ (family trait), from _______ (name of family member) and _______ (another family name) and _______ (family name).
5• I am from the _______ (description of family tendency) and _______ (another one).
6• From _______ (something you were told as a child) and _______ (another).
7• I am from (representation of religion, or lack of it). Further description.
8• I'm from _______ (place of birth and family ancestry), _______ (two food items representing your family).
9• From the _______ (specific family story about a specific person and detail), the _______ (another detail, and the _______ (another detail about another family member).
10• I am from _______ (location of family pictures, mementos, archives and several more lines indicating their worth).

The beautiful poem by George Ella Lyons called "Where I'm From." inspired this exercise

Where I'm From
by George Ella Lyons

1• I am from clothespins, from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride. 2• I am from the dirt under the black porch. (Black, glistening it tasted like beets.) 3• I am from the forsythia bush, the Dutch elm whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own. 4• I'm from fudge and eyeglasses, from Imogene and Alafair. 5• I'm from the know-it-alls and the pass-it-ons, from perk up and pipe down. 6• I'm from He restoreth my soul with a cottonball lamb and ten verses I can say myself. 7• I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch, fried corn and strong coffee. 8• From the finger my grandfather lost to the auger the eye my father shut to keep his sight. Under my bed was a dress box spilling old pictures, a sift of lost faces to drift beneath my dreams. 9• I am from those moments- snapped before I budded- leaf-fall from the family tree.

Anna (9 years old) 

Where I'm From

I am from the little log cabin across the pasture from Jesus' house; from multi-colored elastic pony-tail holders, from Polly Pockets, tea parties, Nancy Drew and Scrabble. 

I am from the cozy and crowded, snug and comfortable, the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg. I am from aspen and pine trees, mountain and prairie. From bad singing on birthdays and twenty-zillion pies at Thanksgiving.

I am from Nina and Grandmom, from Davises and Chenoweths -- choir singers, movie quoters and hula-hoopers from way back.  From "Do unto others" and "Offer it up."  I am from my Roman Catholic Faith, undiluted, unchanged, full of life and love and bounded by the rules and the rosary and the Mass and from flowers and pictures pinned around statues of the saints.

I'm from the the rolling plains and fertile valleys in the shadow of the mighty Colorado Rockies; from Ireland, and England, and Wales, and Germany. 

I'm from quesadillas and bread sticks and potato soup.  From Colcanon on St. Patrick's and Bouillabaisse on New Year's and chai in the morning if I'm lucky.

I am from my four big brothers' snowstorm "white-outs;" my three big sisters' music and baking; my little brothers' in trouble for bouncing on the couch. I'm from sitting on the sidelines giggling at all of them. 

I'm from a billion photos on the hard-drive and a dozen tacked over the desk nearby; from a ten-sibling pyramid, and mountain top hikes, and board game bonanzas in a log cabin in the mountains.

I am from love and hugs and sibling squabbles; from a Mommy just waiting to hear what I'll say next and a Daddy who loves and "whoops up" unconditionally.  I am from memories and love to last me a lifetime.

And then some.

Student 1

1• I am from hairspray
From braces and rubberbands.
2• I am from lightning bugs
Fluttering in the summer night sky.
3• I am from Belle
The cute little puppy
We rescued from the pound
And Smoky the cat
Whose death still touches my heart.
4• I am from Papaw’s goulash
And Momma’s pumpkin pie
From Dad’s overbearing
Protectiveness of his little girl.
5• I am from outrageous
Eleven foot Christmas trees
And joyous Thanksgiving feasts.
6• I am from French immigrants
From 1692 and New Paltz, New York
7• I am from Louis Bevier and Marie Le Blanc.
8• I am from the American dream
From broken despair and gained hope
9• I am the present, past, and future,
History in the making

Student 2

1• I am from Texas
where deep in the heart lies Austin.
2• I am from the sunny Saturday afternoons
of Texas Longhorn football games.
3• I am from sports
and the lessons that I learn from these games
I play with all my ability and enjoy the victories.
4• I am from my family, friends,
and awesome food.
5• I am from my grandmother’s warm pies
and my parents’ cooking, from which
I grew to be a large boy.

6• I am from Texas barbeque
which smells and tastes like none other.
Although I cannot have it right now
7• I can still remember.
8• I am from Tennessee
where I live at the Foothills of the Smokies
and enjoy hiking on clear days.
9• I am from lessons in literature
and the sounds of a saxophone.
10• I am from the “try your hardest”
and “never give ups.”
11• I’m from my hard work
and the present as I continue on life’s journey.

  

Where I am from…

By Valerie Peters

I am from a breakfast
Where the bacon and sausage
Was previously raised in the backyard
And the scrambled or sometimes fried eggs
Had just been gathered earlier in the week
And homemade biscuits, not from a can
And isn’t complete without a glass of sweet tea, the southern style

I am from a family
Dad that feeds all the domestic animals
And hunts wildlife for our own consumption
Mom who works her 7-3 management job
And cleans, does laundry, and prepares the meals
Two brothers, Michael and Matthew, to wrestle with usually against my will
To play games with or whatnot in our empty time
Them making me into what I am today
Grandparents that have been through a lot, but never letting it show
And their still continue to move forward attitude
I, myself, feeling closer to them than to my own mother and father

I am from the beautiful southwestern Virginia
Where no matter what direction you look toward
It’s just as amazing as the other
Where during the fall the leaves change color
And drop from the trees creating an array of beauty
Taking drives along the Blue Ridge Parkway
Just to stop and take in the glory
Or play a game of Frisbee
A town so small that gossip goes around
And is changed person to person
Where there is always someone in your business
From the waterfall, where we would skip school
To be astonished by the movement of water
A place we created “On top of the World” being,
Not only a housing development but at the very top of the hill
You can look out at what stretches around the county

I am from
A place that no matter how hard one tries,
They can never take it away from ME
Because it has grown to be a part of who I am
And that cannot be erased.                                                                                 

 I am from Carroll County, Virginia.

I’m from Home

By Valerie Bandell

I’m from a small town
between the hustle and bustle
where neighbors are like family.
I’m from skimmed knees,
jumping fencings, and
water sprinklers.
I’m from a purple mini-van,
soccer practice, dance practice,
girl scouts and music lessons.
I am from sisterhood
yellow and blue,
gold and onyx.
I’m from Frisbee discs,
campfires,
lightening bugs, and
sleeping bags.
I’m from family dinners,
hiding vegetables, wet noses,
and wagging tails.
I’m from friends that are family,
and family that are friends.
I’m from home and their ain’t no place
I’d rather be.


Where I’m From ~ Fred First ~ November 2003
1• I am from the peaceful banks of a creek with no name; from JFG, toast and blackberry jam and home-made granola.
2• I am from "a house with double porches," a room filled with good ghosts and creek laughter in the mornings before first light.
3• I am from Liriodendron and Lindera, butterfly bush and mountain boomers
4• I am from Dillons and Harrisons, Betty Jean and Granny Bea-- frugal and long-lived, stubborn and tender, quick to laugh. Or cry.
5• I am from a world whose geography my children know better than I, from a quiet valley where I am the proprietor and world authority of its small wonders.
6• From barn loft, secret passwords and children who can fly if they only try.
7• I am from oven-baked Saran Wrap and colds caught from jackets worn indoors.
8• I am from pire in the blood Baptists, from the cathedral made without hands, the church in the wildwoods, the covenant of grace.
9• I'm from the Heart of Dixie, son of Scarlett O'Hara. From War Eagle, Wiffle, UAB and PT, from Walnut Knob's blue ridge and the soft shadows of Goose Creek.
10• From a "fast hideous" dresser and a home body from Woodlawn, from a grandfather I never knew that I can blame for my love of nature and my stubbornness, they tell me.
11• I am from fragments, the faint smell of wood smoke, and familiar walks among trees I know by name, from HeresHome and good stock. A man can hardly ask to be from more.

This idea was explored as an template for a  group performance. After some re-working and blocking choices, here is the final draft of the script.

Louisiana Voices
by Summer 2000 Institute participants

All: We are Louisiana voices
Northern Voices: A patchwork quilt
Southern Voices: A spicy gumbo
Central Voices: Crossroads connecting
All: We are Louisiana voices
Sally
I am from hands
pushing into dark, rich soil
on the bayou's bank
I'm from slapped hands
humiliated, ridiculed
punctuating the forbidden
French language
I am from blistered hands
holding hammers not plows
in New Iberia, Ibeia, the Queen City.
Christine
I am from
the second migration
away from the roots of
Spanish moss
Evangeline oaks
Bayou Teche
I return
to the land of
Arceneaux, Broussard, Maraist, Lake Peigneur
I am deeply rooted in the Grand Marais
the sugar cane, the traiteur, and the loup garou
the Iberians of Ma Louisiane.
Martha
I am from the
North and the South,
A steel magnolia,
Easily bruised yet
Strong and bold.
Maria
I am from bayous of gumbo water.
From Angelle, Alceé, Marie,
A-ma, A-pa, Ma-Maw, and Paw.
And Mama saying, "The years may come
And the years may go,
But there will always be a Babineaux."
Cindy
I am from everyday bridges
Of ageless cypress and muscadine vines
Crossing time and Bayou Teche.
Danette
I am from swift running racehorse legs,
Sprinting to buy Lea's infamous pies,
Cool creek water chilling the bones
Of any brave soul who dares to intrude.
Cindi
I am from my Grandma Stype, long gone,
The keeper of ponies, chickens, and "wooper" dogs.
Dixie
I am from the death scent of
wild rabbit, dove, and quail in my father's hunting vest.
Jo Lynn
I am from the watermelon thump parades,
Rainbow Girls and air-raid drills.
I'm "A Daydream Believer"
Who "Can't Get No Satisfaction."
Brenda
I am from
the aroma of Community Coffee,
small hands serving Grandfather
his morning cup on the back porch,
oak trees behind us.
Angi
I am from the circle oaks
Where I stand as gusts of warm winds
Gather up my every hair
And make a dancer of me.
Kim
I'm from the Smith and Meaux branch,
Coffee milk and coush coush
Oilfield sweat and pennies pinched
From hand-me-downs,
From garfish balls and from boiled eggs in gumbo.
Wendy
I am from the slow moving waters
Of Atchafalaya week-ends,
Dripping from fat full moons,
Fitted piece by piece
Into the quilting frame
Stretched across the pinewood floor
Upstairs
Where the sun is best
Where everything is clear.
Gayle
I am from store-bought dresses and handmade quilts.
Sandy
I am from "Je vous salue Marie, pleine de grace" and
"Notre Père, qui est au ciel..."
from "Et cum spiritu tou," "Ora pro nobis" and "Mea culpa,
mea culpa, mea maxima culpa."
Vicki
I am from pine trees, magnolia leaves,
Sugar cane and cotton fields crisscrossing Bayou Boeuf
From fishing holes and barbeques
From a sense that He is in charge.
Sally
I am from calloused hands
soothed in the earth
of backyard gardens,
cultivating tomatoes, okra, sweet corn
I am from celebrating hands
passing a good time
squeezing accordions
fingering fiddles
peeling crawfish
holding a bourré hand
I am from protective hands
pushing offspring
deeper into the city
spreading fingers to allow
glimpses to the past
I am from reaching hands
replanting roots
reweaving threads
of a rich heritage
I am from
Acadian Hands
Claire
I am from bayous of
Fiddles, accordions, and the fais - do - do.
All: We are Louisiana voices
Northern Voices: A patchwork quilt
Southern Voices: A spicy gumbo
Central Voices: Crossroads connecting
All: We are Louisiana voices.