Chris Tusa

Ode to Gumbo

after Sue Owen Born from flour anointed with oil, From a roux dark and mean as a horse’s breath, You remind me of some strange, mystical stew Spawned from a muddy version of Macbeth.

KINDERGARTEN PORTRAIT OF MY MOTHER AT MARDI GRAS

She looks rather pathetic, really, Leaning against the black air, The three mangled fingers of her left hand Clutching a yellow purse, Her right arm raised over her head As if to shield herself

MARIE LAVEAU TALKS ABOUT MAGIC FROM A CONFESSIONAL IN ST. LOUIS CATHEDRAL

Marie Laveau, a colored woman who eventually became Known as the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, often used Her knowledge of Voodoo to manipulate and acquire power. Enigma In one quick lick I waved

Snow White, to the Prince

after Susan Thomas Truth is, my life was no fairytale, That afternoon, I lay, a smiling corpse Under a glass sky, a rotten apple Lodged in my throat like a black lump Of cancer,

Hypochondriac

Maybe it’s Emphysema, a shiny black jewel of phlegm Humming like a clump of bees in my chest. Perhaps a tumor crawling in the crook of my armpit, A blood clot opening like a

Alzheimer's

My grandmother’s teeth stare at her From a mason jar on the nightstand. The radio turns itself on, Sunlight crawls through the window, And she thinks she feels her bright blue eyes Rolling out