St. Louis Cemetery II
Jessica McMichael
We drank bayou liquor in
Louis II near Marie Laveau’s mausoleum,
Breathed in the curdled Mississippi,
Thought - for once -
Gris gris was more than voodoo dust.
You told me New Orleans was shaped like a bowl,
That we could pull ourselves up to the rim,
Then slip back into the gutter.
Here we had no names,
No mortar, no bricks, no crash test similes.
We shed our skin and melted through the rows of tight
pressed dead -
Dusted one another off,
Decided to keep our hands in fists
So we could never crawl over the edge.
Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.
Problems with this page? Then deal with it...
