step child of the Mississippi
born on the defiant shore of mixed ancestry
pigment of tribal song and French regents
color shaped her lips like a song
levees lifted her arms to place her crescent
she flowed her roots swamp deep and alligator rich
sticky voodoo mist and hard brow colonialism
spiced the roux
caribe boys marched and jazz hearts tapped
she spread her legs and collected gold like any enterprising girl would do
port and parcel
building her jewel box and investing in her swampy shore
barely above the level
she was coveted enough for war, but not enough to die for
She was sold like a whore, abandoned by her French father
left her jewel box empty
and her skin blazing with yellow fever
Good Friday burned her memory
but fattened her Tuesday
her heritage dripped out her Edwardian windows
her character seeped out of the cracks in her streets
disregarded by the modern investors
who didn’t find her worth the plunder
her antiques were left to the impoverished
who took her heart in their care and left her buildings naked
she broke free in spite of her decrepitude
and served up her Poverty on a creole plate
made it taste good
her saviors were the Bohemian
her resurrector the musician
the artist and the bum
they embraced her decay
and preserved her style
ultimately poverty was her Great Protector
it is what preserved her
and delivered her back to us
so we can go back in time
when life was raw, burnt-sugar authentic
taste her roux
drink her ethnic flavors
and relish the irreverent sauce
that only the French Quarter
can serve up
This poem won 2nd place at the San Mateo County Fair 2013
4 comments
Comments feed for this article
February 14, 2012 at 10:09 pm
Sarah
Just beautiful! Brings in a total feeling of New Orleans.
LikeLike
February 22, 2012 at 6:40 am
Jack
You just keep getting better!
LikeLike
February 24, 2012 at 4:43 am
Suesan W. Taylor
Fabulous! Really captures the spirit and history of New Orleans! Reminds of a poem that I can’t track down called “Out of Nothing, Nothing Comes” by Jack Christiansen in Salt Lake City. All I remember of this very ironic piece is the following:
She is a woman, so they say
And I believed, watching her industry
that intimates close existence with the bees.
LikeLike
February 24, 2012 at 6:06 pm
iwrite11
Thanks for your comment, Jack. I was proud of this one and thanks for that excerpt. That is really clever. Don’t you hate it when you can’t find the original to a quote you remember?? Thanks for reading, with smiling eyes, Maurine
Maurine Killough – 816 E 4th Avenue San Mateo, CA 94401-3317 (650) 344-1403 – Cell (650) 766-9402 see some of my poetry and musings at: https://iwritemyself.wordpress.com/ See our Sonoma Place at http://www.smilingeyestribe.com
LikeLike