the day of disbelief has arrived on my doorstep

Carol has waited day in and
out of her rickety blue house slouching
on the corner of seventh and
laurel streets
beyond the reasoning
more than five years have passed by since katrina came to
visit the neighborhood
with little damage to rest the eyes on as she gazes catty corner and down

the road of thirteen years

if my husband were still alive

today was the day when i finally got my money to fix my house
i kept everything organized and in triplicate
filed away and of course i followed

all the rules and regulations and filled out all the countless useless forms
never leaving an empty box
i found an old wooden cigarette box upstairs tucked away strangely

protected from the waterlogged collection
but new forms reappear and there is no end in sight

the woman working at the collection assistance office is just the perfect fit
cold as a coconut snoball i tell her that fairly soon the money will be no use to me because my house will fall down out of sight
not a sympathetic bone in her stiff skinny straight-postured frame

the magic is deceptive

Floating.
like a child's lost balloon
and I don't know where to land
how to find stable ground
swimming---
through thick unchartered waters with little sound reaching across
the barriers that dictate my identity.
the far-reaching limitations of what I know
what I don't know
what I cannot allow to be true
Joan Didion's ordinary instant stays with me
that split second that takes everything away
changes infinite lives across the globe
in one every day rhythm never before noticed
all like the next 15 thousand moments
that indicate
infiltrate
undetermined
yet to be discovered destinations
far beyond the winding California roads
between vineyards freshly harvested

skirting around the real words
aimlessly searching
for scraps amidst the meaninglessness
sifting through this mess reaches no
conclusion

sam cooke

it's been a long time coming and i've been afraid of

changing the status quo, the unkown, and the unattainable

but i know a change is gonna come

lois

the other day, i left the shelter, walked down the street and saw an older women getting out of her car. her name is Lois. she lives down the road. some mornings at about 7:30 i pass her sitting on the front porch in a rockety, torn, faded, dark peach,fabric swivel chair throwing bread crumbs to the swarming pigeons. they know its coming. as i approach, they scatter onto neighboring rooftops, into the sky, landing on telephone poles. i apologize and she says they will certainly return, not to worry.

a scrunched up face filled with wrinkles and i sense wisdom of old age behind her tough exterior. her voice crackles and quavers a bit while she speaks, but stays strong. this particular day, i pause in front of her car as she emerges and warn her of a passing by speeding car. she absentmindedly shuts the drivers door and slowly comes around to where i'm standing. long day. she tells me about her home dialysis machine...she plugs in 10 hours each night to drain liquid. she would much rather do it in her own home then have to go to the clinic daily.

i've lived in this house for 13 years and have always been in new orleans. this is my home...i only leave for vacation, i know i'm coming back. katrina sent me away. my niece took me in and set up the whole room for me, with the machine and everything. i owe her. hmmm, september, october, november....i think i was there in gonzales for about three months. then i came back home. they finally gutted my house...i can't afford to fully fix it up. they helped me find a job through the aarp. i'm glad to be busy. keep moving. not sittin at home all day doing nothing.

ohhh, you're not from here? just came.. three months,, ahhh. no family even? what do you do over there? counseling? ohhh.... i wonder where that woman went, she used to come and sit with me on the porch, and talk in fellowship. i haven't heard from her....got that money and moved with her husband, i think. well, i hope she's doing well for herself. oh, yea, catch your bus. god bless you.

commute

early in the morn
travelin uptown to
downtown
sandwiched by
lake and riversides
st. claauuude route leaves me
sleepy
at the bright yellow shell station day
laborers loitering
smokin shootin the breeze
hows ya mom an'em freshly
gutted shell of house
longoverdue
objects strewn amidst rubble
dashing by at dusk hours later
plot of dirt remains
shocking speed to wraparoundmymind next
door neighbor familiar
poised old lady and daughter
i presume
comment on my dumbfounded gaze
hyper mussed coffee color haired biker
materializes toppling
crotch over bike frame eager
to witness nothingnesss
they tear down and don't
rebuild infrastructure