After the Storm: Poems

It was a Large Tree:
An emulation of William Carlos Willams' "It was a small plant"

WINNER: Austin Poetry Society Annual Poetry Contest; "To Look at Anything"
HONORARY THIRD PLACE - March 2008

It was a large tree

twisted, robust branches and

grown together

intertwined with fuzzy Spanish moss

bearded branches, swayed lightly

grey with tiny tenants

under the New Orleans sun

perfect shade, friendly roots

to sit quiet, or picnic on

She was once a great tree,

a giant beast

whose limbs now broken;

scattered with fiberglass

and memories - on the side of the road.

Bearded limbs- snapped

the soul of the tree giant - lost

like the once piercing rays

of sunlight from a fair sun

Bearded limbs- dry,

lifeless shells, lost forever

and refusing to stem back

no longer draping moss, curled tight, no.

It is the hollow stumps

and uprooted knots of previous life

destroyed by plaguing waters

Apocalyptic fury it was.

death hangs in the air

like innumerable tangled roots, exposed

Below, memories of life:

a pink teddy bear and a lamp

forgotten.

And winter’s breeze will blow

several times over, several times

over - silently.

CNN

Slumped low in my chair, I watch the world collapse

on a TV set. Disconnected, far from home I cry tears freely

like the man on TV being interviewed.

The reporter wears a ponytail,

gripping a microphone and the man’s hand

she holds back tears, unsuccessfully,

"Sir, where are you going?"

He has strayed from the herd.

Sobbing, tears stream down like floodwaters

down his worn, tired, black face

wrinkled with years of racism in his city

I begin to sob with him, angry tears

as if I knew the pain of losing everything, and everyone.

A New Orleans accent gives away his address

mushy Brooklynese words flow from his mouth:

He says he’s lost his way,

as he holds his body with one arm, and his children wrapped

tight ‘round the other like a tourniquet

He tells the reporter, "I don’t know what to do"

I tell him it’s going to be okay.

Atop his 9th ward roof, he held the lives

of those he loves in his hands

like no man should ever have the burden

of Abraham and his son, how do you choose?

His wife’s grip weakened, her strength compromised

as the waters pushed her down their street into her death

She told him to let go, save her boys

"Tell them I loved them..."

The simplicity of letting a hand go-

with ramifications far greater than we will ever understand

The man’s face now, pathetic, wretched with confusion

How many times will this man relive

a sinking hand with their ring around a finger cold

in his nightmares alone at night?

"Tell them I loved them..."

Knowing her last breaths will be filled with water

He shakes his head confused as he begs

the American public, deaf and unaware

of the real consequences of a broken levee

But I am listening to his despair, he begs

"Please, find my wife" repeating as his sons scream

for a mother that will not come to comfort

I reach through the TV and hold this man,

who sobs into my sleeve, I hold him tight.

"Find my wife" he echoes into my ear

"She is my life."

Displacement

It means the removal from a normal position.

And in my position, I’m lucky to get out of bed

these days. The cold, maroon carpeted floor is too foreign-

un-exotic, uninteresting, uncharted territory

I never wanted to discover.

The moment before I wake, I convince myself I’m home

again- I am greeted with unfamiliar furniture

and a tacky color scheme

maroon splashed with Pepto pinks and vomit greens

like the corner bar on St. Charles used to be decorated.

I’m fucking angry beneath these flannel blankets

as I watch the neighbor’s snow boots stroll by

through the windows above my head

They are careless, unknowingly fortunate;

they know where home is- I envy them.

Sickened with homesickness, waiting to return to a past life

A resurrection into normalcy from this wasteland of passing days.

Like a misplaced doll, with plastic, shiny eyes that blink

high on a shelf; forgotten, collecting dust and wondering why-

I ever let myself get put away.

I’m supposed to be one of the lucky ones, but you see-
Displacement is too overwhelming for me.