errol miller
Morgan City
Embarkation point
formen and materials, you
haven't lived until you've left
its imperial offshore shore
an industrial region out of sight
half-past Berwick
you look up and see heaven flowing
down to the Gulf like oil
shrimp boats, an eternal flame
near the foot of the bridge
on Highway 182, the Great Wall
cascading form the Atchafalaya River
near the concrete floodworks where
the Jesuit priest stands
a walkway looking out upon
past lives in perceptual festival
all the comings, all the goings
monuments to those exiting Front Street
for the shelter of the swamps
their cypress homes
bobbing in the gateway history
of a unique heirlooms region
diffused
through long sulfurous days
and wetland nights
enduring the moss-draped pain
of past and present.