Ark of the Lost Angels

Saint Louis Cathedral, Jackson Square, New Orleans _{(Credit: Author)}

As part of this week’s article about the effects of Hurricane Katrina on New Orleans in 2005, I wrote a poem broken up with each section. Here is that poem in its entirety.

I have stood where the floodwater flowed,
where cobble streets fell beneath the waves,
where home was drowned and hearth was doused, 
And the Crescent City had its heart ripped out.

I heard the echoes of their promises,
They ring hollow even after all this time.
I saw the defiance marked on headstones,
And bitter memory on the faces of the living.

They withstood the beating of the winds,
And endured when the waters rushed forth.
The wind and water collected souls,
But hope could never be drowned.

The storm had passed and the sun returned,
Shed its light on the horrors in the streets.
But the heartbeat of New Orleans never stopped,
And its people could never be broken.

The Ninth Ward is the legacy of ditherers and cowards,
Who passed the buck rather than work the shovel.
A community’s bleeding heart lies on their table,
And they complained about the mess.

The floodwaters subsided,
And the bodies were buried. 
Home was rebuilt and hearth was relit,
The Crescent City would rise again.

I have stood in a city reborn,
Welcomed by its music and its cooking.
I walked neighborhoods resurrected,
And heard it scream, “This is New Orleans!”