Maureen Doallas joined our Twitter Poetry Party group, and jumped right in. This is one of her poems that she’s published on her blog, and it’s about remembering New Orleans.
wafting roasting chicory root
steam-driven cafe au lait
beignets by fistfuls
on a randy French corner.
We can remember
serendipity’s tune
getting loose from back pockets
in a Bourbon Street dive
and Jean Lafitte look-alikes
making the rounds
as day broke day
by day.
We can remember
a jumble of shrimps and crabs
oysters and crawfish
curried and bisqued
for a magician’s pittance
— or a dreamy pirate’s scowl.
We can remember
white columns stretching
to hold the shade for
southern belles’ beauty
on morns too-bright
with hissing Bayou heat.
We can remember
the storm coming
the water rising
the levees crumbling
the refinery leaking
the wondering squall
of need
for everything
worth having.
We can remember
watching eyes watching
for hope
getting lost in hope
never arriving
early enough
or at all.
We can remember
loss
granting no claim
on those who
could forget
would still forget
do forget
a city
a ward
a block
a house
a home
troubled by mud
mold-stormed and mucked
stuck in the caw of
some southern politician’s memories.
We can remember
it was a place to be
once
where po’ boys
might speak
some lazy approximation
of French
and delicate young ladies
wave triangles
of fine lace hankies
to their suitors’ sway.
We can remember
New Orleans
yet
as it never will be
again
where a river channeled
gained its own control
over man’s made things
and not even bleach
could recover
what water rinsed
what water washed
what water wasted
in
a city
a ward
a block
a house
a home
left behind
for the asking.
Poem by Maureen E. Doallas. Used with Permission.
Browse more:
Poets and Poems
Grief Poems
Americana Poems
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nAncY says
i love this one.
you have wonderful expression.
L.L. Barkat says
Ah, lovely, even in its grief.