Before I married a Louisiana boy,
grits were not something I ate for breakfast.
Before I married a Louisiana boy,
I would never have added
hot sauce to an egg dish.
Before I married a Louisiana boy,
I would have told you gravy
was for mashed potatoes or stuffing.
Today we ate brunch at a trendy
Brooklyn restaurant with a cajun flair.
What once seemed foreign,
now feels like home.
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I like this poem. It is short and sweet and makes me think about breakfast, which I love. I like how you used repetition at the beginning of the poem and the last two lines, about food feeling like home.
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This is a great poem, speaks a volume in just a few lines. I really love it (even though I couldn’t be persuaded to eat that kind of breakfast, I don’t think?!)
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Love this scrumptious poem! A pleasure to read.
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The repetition makes this poem! Glad you added the image, too!
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