Sweet Louisianne,
to tell of you
is to tell of two:
The North and the South
The fields and the swamp
The pine and the oak
The twang and the cher.

Sweet Louisianne,
all I’ve ever known
is how to call you home,
the little hills in the North
the swamp in the South
where I grew
and where I’ve grown.

Sweet Louisianne,
your heat can be sweet
when it’s the belly not the feet
the bright red mud bugs
and the dark, cloudy roux
are only ever true
when they come from you.