It’s Not About Beads
Sitting on a corner of the quarter
leaning back in my black iron chair
sipping an Abita beer
considering the damage done here.
What it must have been like ~
boarding up these doors and windows,
heavy shutters like butterfly wings
even in the first of the winds.
The questions ~ do we stay or go?
What to leave? What to bring?
Where should we go?
What will happen to our home?
Then the water, so cold and scary,
hard and noisy from above,
slowly seeping up the avenues,
but rising, rising, ever higher.
Later, the bloated boats of bodies
typically, thankfully, floating face down
not looking up toward the sky,
now so clean, and clear,
brimful of bright stars.
copyright - Tammi J Truax