and its survivors across the wide swath of Louisiana which has been tortured by the devastation he left behind. Saying in last night’s speech that she stands behind our fellow citizens in the area would only have been right–especially were she to have called upon other Americans to donate to the Red Cross as has Obama. (Link below the fold).
Now for the “meat”–following is a poem I’ve written to commemorate the third anniversary of Katrina and the federal flood. It is in the voice of the mother of 8-year-old and 9-year-old boys who have a disabled grandmother. While it is fiction, it’s based on things people actually went through during Katrina and flood and in the aftermath.
8/29/05 And 8/29/08
Now we’re on a bus heading who knows where
anxiously awaiting Gustav–nervously
wondering what will be there when
we get back–and when we can–memories of
the flood–wounds still raw–tearing us apart.
Those who weren’t here would say about us–
we’d been warned Katrina’d come–so what
happened was our fault–but we couldn’t
leave–no car, no bus–and besides we’d
thought we’d known for years our levees
would keep us safe–but they didn’t–I
woke early that morning–sensed something
wasn’t right–smelled shit, piss, vomit,
gas–other bad things I couldn’t name–
maybe even death itself–I heard the
rushing water–got out of bed–it was
already up to my knees–and still
quickly rising–shook Noah, Jonah
awake shouting “Get upstairs–NOW!”–
Saw to Grandma ‘Becca–their daddy’s
mother–diabetes had robbed her of her
legs–we couldn’t afford to buy her
new ones–I thanked the Lord I had
the strength to carry her–then
brought up her chair, insulin and
other meds–started going back for
food–but foul water was coming close
to the attic–found the ax I’d kept
there–cut a hole in the roof as the
boys made a flag–then each of them
and I took turns going out to wave
it–minutes turned to hours–we saw
helicopters but they didn’t see us–
I’d check on ‘Becca and give her her
shots and pills–it was sweltering and
I could tell that she wasn’t doing
very well–and silently prayed the
Lord would see her through and that
we all be rescued–we were all hungry
and thirsty–rescue finally arrived–
asked me who all was there–“My sons
and their grandma–she’s in a bad way,
you see–here’s her insulin and all
the other stuff she needs.”–they
took her and the boys–but not
enough room with others abroad so
they had to leave me–at first I
thanked the Lord ‘Becca had been
rescued–and didn’t worry thinking
the helicopter would be back soon
and that ‘Becca and the boys were
going to be cared for–but it got to
be two long days before anyone came–
my city was gone–this brought tears
to my eyes–I just couldn’t stop crying–
my neighborhood and much more under
water–wondering what had become of my
Mom, Dad, and sisters–had they gotten
out OK or drowned–and what about other
family, my friends, my church, the boy’s
school, stores, my beauty shop–everyone
and everything else I’d known?–I just
couldn’t believe what had happened to
my city, my home–where I’ve lived all
my life–I think I cried the whole trip
but then put myself together–they were
dropping me off on the overpass and
now I had to find ‘Becca and the boys–
I first went to the Dome–but a guard
there told me it I couldn’t go in.
“Well, do you remember a sick elderly
lady without legs, in a wheelchair–and
two boys–they’re eight and nine?”–“No,
Ma’am,” he said–“I’m sure I’d have seen ’em
had they got here on my watch.”–then I
asked for food and water ’cause I hadn’t
eaten for at least a week–he said they
didn’t have any I could have–then said
I should go to the Convention Center–so
I did–on the way there was a store
where folks were taking what they needed
to survive–and I went in to see what I
could find–slim pickin’s–hardly any
food left–but I was grateful for what
I could find–and at the same time
felt badly for having done what I’d
needed to do–so I left a note by the
register saying sometime I’d come back
and pay for what I took–finally I got
to the Convention Center where I was
turned off by the funk–in the crowds
I asked almost everyone I saw–“Have
you seen a sick older lady without
legs in a wheelchair and two school-
age boys?”–finally one man said, “I
think I seen ’em”–then took me to the
front wall of the Center where I saw
Noah and Jonah looking rather well–
aside from what they’d gone through–
but ‘Becca’s slumped over in her chair
covered in a blanket–each boy gives
me a silent hug–and Noah, on the
verge of tears, said, “She’s gone–she
passed last night–nobody would give
her her shots or anything.”–for the
second time I broke down–now only
had she been a wonderful grandma to
Noah and Jonah, she’d been like another
mother to me–soon after that was our
exile to Houston–now it’s three years
later–I wish I could say our life is
cool–but both Noah and Jonah have
been having trouble in school–we’ve
all had nightmares, flashbacks–I’ve
nerves, low energy, feel very down–
overwhelmed–if I didn’t know I need
to stay strong for the boys, I don’t
know what I’d do–but I don’t mean to
totally cry the blues–the good thing
in our life is we’re back in NOLA–and
we’ve a home–now, it’s with one of my
sisters and her remaining kids and gets
crowded–but I’m grateful we’re not in
Houston where we just couldn’t fit in
and got homesick rather fast–or
homeless–and though I’m saddened by
some things I see in this city–there
are other signs we’re keepin’ on
keepin’ on in spite of everything–
those small baby steps NOLA’s making
to come back–and today I pray
that we’ll be able to return home
soon as now we’re on the bus heading
who knows where anxiously awaiting
Gustav–nervously wondering what will be
there when we get back–and when we can….
Now for more about Gustav and related issues: dizzydean has posted an excellent, informative series on what Houma and the Chitimacha tribes have been going through in the wake of Gustav–a story which, with 24/7 coverage of Sarah Palin and the convention, the MSM have missed entirely.
Last but not least, here are a couple of places to donate towards hurricane relief:
Network for Good. Or, as Barack Obama suggests, donate to the
Red Cross. Give what you can–but give. No amount will be too small. Thanks!