It's the Humidity

The shuttered afternoon,
the slow desiccation of an espresso drop
on the countertop, its pep all lost.

Long vowels make this southern.
and the shadows, moist and literary,
secretive and suprascientific.

Marianne would discuss the fauna,
but I'm not gonna. It's enough
to sip this drink and await the flutter.

The shutters open.
The play lets out.
And the captivated once again

condense around
the bright wet points
of late day.


[Another one set in New Orleans from Down Spooky. I'm posting these photos and poems as a way of communicating what I found special about New Orleans and as a sort of prayer that the city will recover eventually. Other words and images to absorb are plentiful right now, but it's helpful to me personally to balance those horrific scenes with others like these.

The rumors circulating about the Red Cross not being able to get into New Orleans have been confirmed by several sources. HOWEVER, they are housing about 95,000 people in about 250 shelters in surrounding areas of Louisiana, Texas, Mississippi, and Alabama, SO DONATIONS ARE STILL HELPING. If you haven't yet, and can afford as little as the $5 minimum donation, please visit redcross.org and ask your company to match it.]

Here is New Orleans

Ken Foster has set up this blog to collect original art, stories, etc. about New Orleans. Send your poems, photographs, essays, and stories to hereisneworleans at gmail dot com.

Commander in Grief

"The good news is--
and it's hard for some
to see it now--
that out of this chaos
is going to come
a fantastic Gulf Coast,
like it was before.

Out of the rubbles
of Trent Lott's house--
he's lost his entire house--
there's going to be
a fantastic house.

And I'm looking forward
to sitting on the porch.
(Laughter.)"1


[The f*cker should be impeached immediately. Then he should be committed to a mental health institution suffering from a dearth of funds, preferably in Louisiana, because he is obviously insane.]

Thank Y'all for Appreciating My Animals

We know how she feels--her slanted
sidewalk, her white house, her
days of the week--and also
the way she walks talking, saying
nothing about n@sty exploit3d te3ns.
Her teens were actually twenties;
they were matter-of-factly male. Here comes Evangeline.
Might as well call her Dulcinea
she's so sweet, so unItalian, so right.
and we should bear it in mind,
the architecture--it's Spanish, not French.

We're talking about there's a place
on his chin that does that to me. The river
moves along hustled by riverbent light.
The slats in the bedroom let in
only enough to curve him like that,
you know? The river slops out of its sides
like a dream you shouldn't tell.
And his lips, too, do this funny thing
when we're. The river
mechanizes motion, liquid and solid
slapping in blocks and sliding columns,
like a tray of letters pushed
to the side. The river pretends
to be caressed by a breeze.

Did you see the black wings, I can't believe
you missed them. The teens shimmy
out of their shirts if you let them.
Let's call her Dulcinea, the sweet one,
the ladylove, who speaks for all of us.
His hair is darker in the morning,
like coffee without anything in it,
it's not even wet. She's the corrected
version of herself; she threw out the old
copies. She's the new chapter, the last
page, the back-flap doodle even. She's
the one we met on Monday night--
the woman, the man, the shepherd,
the goat-footed nanny of us.


[Commemorating this occasion in New Orleans. Forthcoming in Down Spooky, originally appeared in Skidrow Penthouse.]

If you haven't yet, and can afford it: redcross.org. The minimum donation is only $5 and perhaps your employer has a matching program that would double your generosity?

Coupla poems set in New Orleans...

...in the forthcoming (like any minute) Down Spooky and here is one of them, with Lake Pontchartrain (the main culprit in the current flooding) appearing in it in a less menacing light.

I also wrote one called "Hurricane on the Gulf Coast" a few years ago, but don't think I ever sent it out. Not such a rare occurance down there. But this one is obviously extraordinary.

Very glad to hear Cori Copp's mom and pets were rescued yesterday!

Blogiversary

Two years old this month, I guess. I just realized it. Thanks for your visits, comments, encouragement, and etc. I mean it.