Anniversary Day in New Orleans

Apology

I never saw her in her glory
proud Southern belle
dressed in lacy iron balconies
and pink paint
sultry lady at night
swaying to dark blues
Cajun spiced

I meant to go there
see my father’s childhood home
but never made the time
now she’s gone
drowned in the prime of her life

New Orleans,
I am so sad I never met you

I don't know if it's cause for celebration or not. Most of us remember the horror and helplessness of watching and hearing what was happening to that beautiful old city. My father followed the news closely--this was the place he was born and raised, and he wondered if the house he'd lived in would survive. (It did.)

Some evacuees were brought to West Virginia, to the National Guard training center at Camp Dawson in Preston County. When we learned the evacuees were there, the storytelling guild contacted the center to see if they would like us to come and tell stories--the news had said there were many children at the site. Our offer was enthusiastically accepted--but when we arrived, we learned that the children were gone; indeed, most of the evacuees were moved to more permanent shelter.

We learned however that a wedding was scheduled for that day; two people who had planned to marry in New Orleans were having their wedding, thanks to the generous support of many local people. Quite a crowd gathered--the remaining evacuees, locals, news people, volunteers. We stayed, waiting with all the others for the Governor's helicopter to arrive.

It was a lovely, lovely wedding, one I won't soon forget. Out of such tragedy, happiness managed to survive.

Happy anniversary to this couple, wherever they are. I was glad to part of your day.

This lady gave a blessing, complete with bubbles, to the bride and groom as they walked down the carpet after the ceremony.

Sheltering Katrina’s People:
Camp Dawson, WV September 2005

They do not want to leave their homes
though eight feet of dirty floodwater
covers all they know and own
it’s home, after all, the place
to go for rest
comfort
home

bleak faces haunted by what they saw
they cannot, will not forget
homes flattened by wind
bodies in the streets
there is no rest
no comfort
no home

Airlifts carry them, unwilling, through clear
blue skies to mountains and deep valleys
the only water they can see below
quick rivers coursing over stone
A place to rest, recover
find small comfort
until it’s safe
to go back
home