Originally published in Brownstone Magazine

copyright (c) 2005 by Anjoli Roy

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The sight comes in waves
A current of light reflected off
The water.
A joined mass of uncertain force.
Graves buoy in the Bayou, they say.
Nudged by water-locked soil
Gasping for air when they surface
You return to me as a distant traveler
One of Zora’s cautious ones
A memory once rooted in space.
I stumble upon you
A sight caught in sound
Of water
Gushing around you,
Silent in silver and white
A photograph
Of water
Hungry and ravishing the land
Of water
Exerting its force
Wrapping its arms
Like a choke blanket
The people,
Strangled in tears.
The city,
Shavings tossed in the face of those who stayed
The workers came and marked the doors in red
(But we pray for you anyway.)
A city’s worth of memories,
Let loose of their chains to space,
Took flight on the wind.
Married the sight and sound
Of the water I splashed on my face
And watched gather in the washbasin
This mourning.


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