by Sue Stone
O waters lapping at most of my life's memories,
thou art accursed,
evil,
swirling away my hopes for tomorrow,
my dreams,
the lives and dreams of so many.
Can there be enough tears
to curse these winds,
these rains?
The broken roads,
the smashed buildings,
the bodies found in rubble,
in trees,
in attics
speak out my curse,
my anguish,
my loss.
My loss,
their loss,
your loss,
wrapped up in wet, splintered wood,
broken trees
and flames upon the waters.
La Belle Nouvelle Orleans
Je t'aime toujours,
Je pleurerai toujours la pensée à vous.
