Poets are the visionaries and the scribes who keep the records of their era. Many things have happened in my sixty years, but I think the one that touched me most deeply was Hurricane Katrina. New Orleans was a point of fascination for me. To see it turned to rubble and mud was a deep shock. This event brought to light the fact that no matter what era or age, catastrophes can and do happen. We are taught that we are but players on a stage, and Mother Nature writes those plays without regard to times or Tides.

Big Easy

Magnolia-honey air, heavy with heat.
Kudzu vines twining, knitting the city.
Spanish moss masks the old hoyden,
and she manages to think herself pretty.

Shutters and fans lazily stirring keep
the suffocating heat of afternoon at bay.
Lanais and balconies, sanctuary given,
folks resting, until cool enough to play.

Languid, lazy persistence of mosquitoes,
hands too enervated to swat them away.
Down Bourbon a honky tonk is whispering,
birds and butterflies hide from heat of day.

Bawdy houses and mansions, quaint cafes.
Charm oozes from the Big Easy’s pores.
Secrets and antiquities languish behind
ancient shops with their ancient doors.

Now a muddy ruin, wiped from the earth.
No more Mardi Gras and ladies teas or riots.
Just a flow of muddy rubble and water rising.
And the Big Easy is dying as its chaos quiets.

Can she rise again as the south did long ago?
Can she pick up her skirts and refuse to fade?
A southern lady is a strong woman, defiant
under her petticoats, Big Easy, quality-made!

Sherry Asbury is a freelance writer who writes about times of the soul when they happen. She believes poetry is therapy, and stands as a reminder of events in life. Sherry lives in Portland Oregon with her two rescue-ferrets, Amber and Rascal.

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