This poem formed, brewed inside of me
Like you did Katrina before the levees broke
As you rushed forcefully, undeniably
into New Orleans.
This storm of words inside me took
their time. They aligned with thoughts, feelings,
emotions, tears, devastation, loss.
So many lost everything: lost family; lost pets;
lost homes; lost a sense of belonging; lost their
ability to return home.
This is jazz and blues for the displaced; the
people who were called refugees. Easy, no
the rebirth of New Orleans has not been.
Gentrification has pushed the poor out. Young
Black men cannot find jobs. Isn’t it odd
That the people who created the culture, the dance,
the music are not benefiting financially?
Katrina’s wrath can still be felt ten years later.
These words are brewing still. My memory
takes me to images of bodies floating in high
waters, to the eyes of the distressed, the shocked,
to a president’s response that was too little and too late.
I wade in rivers of words.
I listen to spirit and sound.
I remember Katrina rushing through the Lower 9th.
It’s been a struggle to arrive at these ten years.
These words are the Mississippi in the form of tears.
© Christopher D. Sims
August 27, 2015