Step by step she taught me how to make hot
water cornbread. The Cajun way

like in Thibodaux. No sugar, no flavoring
unless you feel like a hint of garlic then shake in three

dashes of McCormick. Stir the cornmeal — Mama
liked Weisenberger Mill white. When the water

finally boils on the stovetop it must bubble
& roil like a crawdad cauldron on a smoking

campfire. Pour the scorching liquid in the grainy
mix & stir at the pace of a caterpillar or you’ll ruin

the concoction & turn it into mush. It has to be pliable
like Play-Doh. Some folks like their fried pieces

round like a biscuit but she liked to pat
her versions into an oval shape like an elongated flattened

egg. The popping grease sounded like rain — hot
rain. Mama & I didn’t always get along. She was gruff

& known for her fiery outbursts. I sanctified her grit.
She never needed leavening. She disciplined the flame.