Vox Populi
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Dorianne Laux: The Optimism of French Toast
No matter how many years since
the first bite passed my lips, that business
of eggs and day old bread, ribbon of syrup,
fireflies of butter sparking my tongue’s buds,
I think of my Acadian ancestors
landing on the shores of Nova Scotia, divining
logs from the deep woods, fashioning windows,
hanging laundry from two oars dug into sand—
the flags of domesticity flayed by the wind.
I see the fruits of their labor rise up
from the marshes: beets, parsnips, cabbages
and corn, and the wheat they ground
to powder and baked into bread.
And the chickens shook out egg after egg
we broke into shallow bowls, beat
with a spoon, each thick slice dipped
into that loom of albumen, chalazae and yolk,
then laid on a scrim of grease in the pan
where it sizzled its solitary song.
How could these French be
considered a scourge, their houses
burned to the ground they had worked,
forced to take the tangled circuitry
of dirt roads with nothing but what
they could carry on their backs? No time
for funerals, no place to go. And yet
here I am listening to Clifton Chenier
on the radio, daughter of a people
who refused to die, a sack of wheat
on the shoulder, spoon in a belt loop,
sugar sprinkled in a pant cuff,
a sleeping chicken hidden under a coat.
~~~~
Copyright 2024 Dorianne Laux. From Life on Earth: Poems (Norton, 2024). First published in Resonance Journal. Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.
Dorianne Laux‘s many poetry collections include Only As the Day is Long: New and Selected Poems which was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize.
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she’s got the immigrant experience down. Reading this I think of my parents and all the immigrants who I grew up around in Chicago.
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Thank you Dorianne, French toast will never be quite the same again, such history, such music!
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Detail, perfect pacing, and she always sticks the landing. A searing poem. Brava.
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I agree. Dorianne’s poems are perfect in every way, and they seem effortless. I love her work.
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Among the books I will take with me to my desert island – definitely Dorianne Laux, Laure-Anne Bosselaar and, actually, all I’ll be taking are books – how can I leave behind poets who journey with me, whose wisdom, minds and words line my heart, my mind, my writing, my dance – and my survival? I will drag that shabby old trunk along the beach until I find the right tree, where I will build a tree house and unpack my books… and then I will kick myself for not bringing a frying pan to make French toast…
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In my desert island fantasy, books by James Wright, Philip Levine and Dorianne Laux… Maybe a few others…
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Oh yes! And Wilfrid Owen, Maya Angelou, Lucille Clifton…I think we should open a book store on the island…
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Hahaha. The poet in me says YES. The businessman says NO.
>
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I’m with the poet!
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So fabulous—the morphology of her tongue in—these artful persistent lines, surviving and settling our minds for good in our deepest admiration and awe of her. She is queen of my poetry frontier. I hope she never moves away. Please stay Dorianne, stay!
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I agree — a fabulous poem. Wow.
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