Out of the Lower 9th: a Dedication

This prose is dedicated to those who have lost their lives in the floods in New Orleans. I chose a stream of consciousness style of prose with minimal punctuation to give the sense of fluidity to it, like a flood, like a river. I have no official title for it, though I posted it on my website using the title of the location where the events of the prose occured-- in the Lower 9th Ward, Orleans Parish, New Orleans. For this post, I'll title it "Out of the Lower 9th."



Mama I'm not scared no more hear my breath listen it is calm like a hot summer Sunday afternoon in the shade is quiet Mama I'm not scared no more of storms or deep water I can't see the bottom of cause it would always hide the gators and the water snakes looked like ripples or sticks upon the back of the lake Mama I don't want you crying no more don't want you wasting your breath calling my name over these dark waters I've learned to swim learned to see underwater you would be so proud of your baby I swam across Reynes street crossed over Forstall and Lizardi and caught a current south along Caffin street I imagined myself a great White Ibsis with their white and black-tipped wings even the angels envy stretched wide right after they've jumped into the air to hang there as if the sky and the wind have hooks and strings then I thought I might be Jesus Christ swimming off his cross arms stretched so wide he wanted to take in the whole world with all his love and save everybody but not me because I feel salvation swimming here like Jesus would swim I swam by our churches and our schools and our stores and I've heard the choirs of frogs croaking to our dark streets and silent houses singing sad hallelujahs to our people who are waiting and talking to God as they wait like you told me to talk to God tell God we've come a long way from the hard days but our days they're still hard and I reckon God didn't always hear me talkin cause the days they never got any easier Mama I am not your baby no more I've felt so much fear I'm not afraid no more seen so much dying my eyes don't blink no more Mama I've heard the cries of mamas and their babies and lost children they follow me on the flood and echo in the flood but I don't cry that I'm lost don't cry because I'm not with you because you will see Mama every hour every day my soul is feeling longer than the street longer than the day and growing longer through the New Orleans night one day soon I'll pass the bayou where the yellow-crowned heron nests and see the red-shouldered hawk master the sky and hear the haunting song of the great horned owl serenade our favorite stars one day Mama I'll make my way past all the moss-covered cypress trees whose branches try to hold me back and I will be so big then you will find me Mama you will see me one day I'll be longer than the Mississippi greater than the Pontchartrain one day I'll be the sea.