* * *

You lay me down in quiet waters . . .
Drown me with your tears,
Flood levees, lift eyelids,
Cover me in your cries . . .
In shallow sea ports of sleepless and restless nights,
Where waning moons moan in the depth of deep agonies,
Where weeping winds breathe defiantly against fatal levees,
Highlight my despair in inarticulate suspension.
But despite my wading and your waters . . .
Our lonely, flooded voices rarely get heard—

Why are you sad, Katrina?
Why breathe on me your perfidious breath?
Why knock down my already crumbling walls?
Flood my sorrows—deep where the Negro speaks of rivers.
“I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young,”
But you drowned me in the Mississippi
Turned all crimson in the sunset.
My soul has grown deep from your waters
With the anguish of open contempt.
Flush me down the wells of hell through the Mississippi high waters.
Engulf me in your perfect storm—

But beyond this hurricane season, Katrina,
I grab hold to my own breath
I cradle selflessly my inner strength.
Together, Katrina, we bear fruit through storms,
Rain apples from forbidden trees—
Carry with us the arc of Noah
Wash away the mysteries of Eden.
We’re lost and alone in need of love.
Fallen from heaven—dark angels
But, Katrina, you . . . you cannot love me.
Instead you chasten me under the daylight
Strike me in my bitter cold,
Obscure my soul to meagerness.
Yet there is a glare of meaning in a new day forthcoming.
There is hope in hopelessness,
Pride in new promises.
We shall ignite fires from waters,
Trade eagerness for doubt.
And it matters to she who says:
“Lost and lonely am I,” crying out …
“Let He who loves us lead the Way.”

Katrina, you tried to drown me,
But I did not die.
He choose your waters meant to drown me for my baptism,
And sinking in them, I learned to swim.
He told me quietly in a song my Grandmother once whispered:
“It won’t be water . . .

* * *



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