… your poetry.
By J. K. McDowell
March 2014
The Atchafalaya is grey with a tint of rusted bronze.
The trees leafless, listen – something under the waters
Speaks to me on this February afternoon drive.
There is a tremor in my right eye, ever so slight.
A forgotten bio-programmed reminder,
Selected long ago for just this event.
Weekend parade aftermath – the streets are strewn
With stands of beads, the colors of power, justice
And faith abound. Landfill treasures of the future.
Bayou side. Not knowing the source I hear a
Beautiful lament. Later the troubling news,
Ophelia was pulled from the waters the week before.
Icicles on the roofline, parades cancelled,
Mardi Gras is here. Mint leaves frozen ready
For the glass, if I can bear the unpleasant morning.
Purple, gold and green, you know the colors?
James, I remember the green rooftops in Marrakesh
And the tourist carrying a book of your poetry.
Your blog and your poetry, a peaceful place to land on this Sunday morning.