We believed help was on the way
I never believed the churches; Jesus is a myth, right?
City workers, the mayor would help us and so would the Feds
In the night, crawling from an attic into a net
Me, grasping stinging threads of a thick rope in the dark night -
Whuppph! Was this the end I rocked my child to sleep for?
Was this the ending? Way worse than a TV show ending?
An anonymous end - me, wet itchy clothes, the dark...
Now with the light descending
I want to think about the myth:
Of me doing life differently than my mom and dad did -
Or differently than those who ended up suffering or dead
As I bounce up to the copter, a star shines over New Orleans
Hearing a garbled voice on the chopper radio - "10-4" I pretend
I'm back to my same job and neighborhood - just for a few seconds
Then I remember who's leftâ€”clinging to air spaces in attics
Or baking on hot roofs, hoping help is on the way
Then, as my mind drifts into waters of hurt, stink, and longing
I want to look back at that star...
'Are you OK, hun?' a high drawl touches my bent shoulders
I heave in sobs, as if the voice was my late mother's...
'Sh-sure,' I stutter, 'th-thanks, r-really, thanks.'
I whisper to New Orleans drifting - 'Help is on the way'
hellicane category: survival