Katrina, Katrina

I lost my voice after the storm;
paralyzed chords without resonance.
Only gasps, sighs, and silence -
silence as dark and deep
as the nights.
My lips tried to shape the sounds,
as I exhaled muted whispers:
but my breath was taken away,
Not even a rasp -
No utterance to convey
the fear, the anger, the despair.
No way to describe what remained,
the sepia images of death and desolation
and shadows;
or how it felt to survive.

Words came back in emotional streams,
black ribbons of mourning,
fluid if not fluent:
Poems and songs playing
slow, solemn tribute;
Dirges and prayers of thanksgiving;
Petitions for strength and for life;
Willful, determined promises;
Oaths to generations
past, present, and future.

Until Spirits stirred
in the cemeteries and abandoned homes,
and we gathered - neighbors, friends,
families and strangers -
to observe our sacred traditions:
We lowered the coffins
and raised our voices -
returning home with
songs of triumph, hope,
and resurrection.

jjm 11/20/05


For a generation of Americans who did not live through the civil rights movement or the Viet Nam war or Watergate, Katrina was their apocalypse.

- Ted Kennedy 11/17/05