Katrina’s Sad Song

Katrina’s Sad Song

 For ten years, it was

me and Mama in

Biloxi, Mississipi,

listenin’ to big, black Fannie Mae

belt out gospel,

praising Jesus.

Sometimes she was so soulful,

rejoicing and clapping

that her trailer

rocked and

shimmied,

shaking our trailer with it.

In the purple-toed

twightlight

and misty-grey

morning fog,

Fannie Mae and me would swing

under that magnolia tree,

listening to mocking birds.

Then like thieves, trill back,

stealing songs from

them wrens.

Mama’d

come home late

or leave early.

But Fannie Mae was always there.

That is,

until the monster come

and took her away.

Katrina hung heavy that day.

Hot humid air,

creeping closer.

Plywood pounding,

lightning, flashing across the

Mis’sippi

night sky,

like Star Wars.

Then pelting,

stinging

rain.

And wind . . .

bending trees,

crashing cars, and

tossing refrigerators like toys.

Finally stone, stinging silence.

Everything washed away

in the muddy,

bloody

Mississippi water.

Including Fannie Mae.