Disparity
in that house red beans & rice
cooked every Monday for four
generations until the water
washed it away.
cooked every Monday for four
generations until the water
washed it away.
it floated down Forgotten Street,
clapboards splintering like frail old
bones in the jaws of the beast.
clapboards splintering like frail old
bones in the jaws of the beast.
the land where it stood’s going on
five years empty now, sacred ground
bleached with the salt of bitter tears
but still loved with a fierceness that
would amaze the unbaptized.
five years empty now, sacred ground
bleached with the salt of bitter tears
but still loved with a fierceness that
would amaze the unbaptized.
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Author: Charlotte Hamrick
The first poem, "Disparity", I wrote a couple of months before the fifth anniversary of the storm known as Katrina. Here in New Orleans, it's known as The Federal Flood.
My name is Charlotte Hamrick and I write fairly often on my blog Zouxzoux. I've been published in The Dead School of Southern Literature, MediaVirus Magazine and St. Somewhere Literary Journal, among others, and was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize by St. Somewhere. I live in New Orleans, the most magical city on earth, and wild horses couldn't drag me away. Much less a hurricane.