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Saturday, September 03, 2005 |
On Friday morning, I listened to NPR and heard a story about the areas of New Orleans that were swamped with water from the broken levees. One of these areas was the Lower Ninth Ward where some of the poorest citizens dwell. This story got my wheels turning to write about this tragedy. I chose a stream of consciousness style of prose with minimal punctuation to give the sense of fluidity, as if it were a flood, a river.
The following prose is dedicated to those who have lost their lives in the floods of New Orleans.
Out of the Lower 9
Mama I'm not scared no more hear my breath listen it is calm like a hot summer Sunday afternoon in the shade is quiet Mama I'm not scared no more of storms or deep water I can't see the bottom of cause it would always hide the gators and the water snakes looked like ripples or sticks upon the back of the lake Mama I don't want you crying no more don't want you wasting your breath calling my name over these dark waters I've learned to swim learned to see underwater you would be so proud of your baby I swam across Reynes street crossed over Forstall and Lizardi and caught a current south along Caffin street I imagined myself a great White Ibsis with their white and black-tipped wings even the angels envy stretched wide right after they've jumped into the air to hang there as if the sky and the wind have hooks and strings then I thought I might be Jesus Christ swimming off his cross arms stretched so wide he wanted to take in the whole world with all his love and save everybody but not me because I feel salvation swimming here like Jesus would swim I swam by our churches and our schools and our stores and I've heard the choirs of frogs croaking to our dark streets and silent houses singing sad hallelujahs to our people who are waiting and talking to God as they wait like you told me to talk to God tell God we've come a long way from the hard days but our days they're still hard and I reckon God didn't always hear me talkin cause the days they never got any easier Mama I am not your baby no more I've felt so much fear I'm not afraid no more seen so much dying my eyes don't blink no more Mama I've heard the cries of mamas and their babies and lost children they follow me on the flood and echo in the flood but I don't cry that I'm lost don't cry because I'm not with you because you will see Mama every hour every day my soul is feeling longer than the street longer than the day and growing longer through the New Orleans night one day soon I'll pass the bayou where the yellow-crowned heron nests and see the red-shouldered hawk master the sky and hear the haunting song of the great horned owl serenade our favorite stars one day Mama I'll make my way past all the moss-covered cypress trees whose branches try to hold me back and I will be so big then you will find me Mama you will see me one day I'll be longer than the Mississippi greater than the Pontchartrain one day I'll be the sea.
Author's Note: Being from the Rocky Mountains, I don't have the vernacular of New Orleans down, so I tried being as non-descript, keeping to the Southern dialect as much as possible. I apologize if my interpretation of the language offends.
11:14:43 PM  | |
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I'm under the weather today so I'm trying to relax and get over it. I had to cancel a 20 mile training run this morning because of a terrible sore throat, chest congestion, and dry cough.
I've still been preoccupied listening and reading reports about the state of the aid and recovery efforts in New Orleans. This morning, I came across an amazing piece of prose written by E. Ethelbert Miller. (Knowing that some writers post work, only to remove them hours or days later, I'm going to post it here in its entirety. Forgive me if this is wrong but it should be read, acknowledged.)
How long have we been gone? Race like warm Coca Cola is now coming out of the mouths of everyone talking about New Orleans. Why are people so surprise? The South is BlackFolks.This is where our numbers are. We are also poor people. We live one check away from a hurricane. This is not Brooklyn, Chicago or Detroit - this in New Orleans and also Mississippi. Many of the folks were three steps behind the Civil Rights Movement. Just go back to what King was trying to do in 1968. Here are pictures of the poor folks that wanted to come to Resurrection City...in fact - folks should direct those buses to DC. Hmmm. Folks camping around the Government until answers and supplies are given before promises. So much anger going around it's not good.
What can we learn? We just can't live in the present. We have to make sure we protect our enviornment and that we listen to folks talking about how the river bends and the trees grow.
Can you imagine if the situation in New Orleans had been an act of terrorism? Folks would be blaming other folks and running around trying to lynch someone. Or folks who looked like the "sinners." If we have problems getting food and essentials to key parts of the country then we have problems. Let's throw into the mix a nuclear plant damaged and radioactive material walking around like it's carnival time. What would we do? The sad thing about all this is that in a few days the story is going to be pushed off the front page and folks will want to know about how Madonna is doing? Or where Michael Jackson might buy a new home. Meanwhile, poor black folks will become invisible. Black folks who were middle class will be looking for work and maybe not finding it. Look for the migrations to take place (again)...folks moving into Texas and California...or heading up North. Look for the military to recruit folks into the National Guard. How can someone turn that down? Don't you want to help "your" state get back on its feet? I could write a poem and pitch that one.
I keep looking at the pictures...the one on the front page of today's NY Times says it all. A body floating by under an overpass in downtown New Orleans.Another woman in the picture not even paying attention. The dead body looks like it was taken down from a cross. If you want to know where the blues come from it's right there...survival music...and it ain't a pretty picture.
2:03:48 PM | |
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