Southern Nights

I crave summer so hot

the sweat drips down from flushed and clammy foreheads

bayou bogs, still air, breathless

in the dusty, street corner alleyways

filled with the aroma of Creole gumbo

bubbling deliciously in the evening kitchens of New Orleans

I crave Mississippi blues

American soil where the heart beats proudly

a life lived so vividly

red, white and blue

catfish stew

I remember palm tree breezes

whispers still sway

white sand, spinning fans

Spanish phrases interjected unbroken

into the busy afternoon marketplaces

ocean murmurs

Miami nights pulsing with the beat of Latino drums

and I know I must return

to a memory that still burns

and leave this cold, Canadian land

with a suitcase in my hand.