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
