An explosion of passion resembling a time and a window,
a time when the shards of myself still existed,
not made anew, but being replaced.
The shards would shatter at touch,
preventing salvage, yet welcoming it as well,
Beginning again was a new window, a new place,
much more sightly than the shrouding smoke that once hovered.
Due time, reason and rhyme became subtle as I repaired
Reason was the person I was,
Rhyme was the shards.
I remember the time,
When it poured down,
Chasing away the brightness,
Chasing away the summer heat,
The time I desire solitude,
The gloomy afternoon,
The dark noisy nights,
The water hitting the roofs,
And hitting the streets,
Cars splashing in puddles,
Like kids playing in them,
The time is here again,
When I feel gloomy,
But complete again,
I walk out of my home,
Welcoming the clouds,
Embracing their gift to me,
And I close my eyes,
And tell myself quietly
The rains are here again.
I amble along this path
Its viridian ivy
Its dismal shade
I catch a glimpse of you
But my foot catches
My palms sting
But I ready myself
Prepared to continue
Prepared to chase
s t o p
The corner of my eye
A hand pushes apart the brush
The shade receding a moment
Pale, bony, soft hand
Welcoming, ready, understanding
what if i'm too broken what if he is tricking me what if i don't love him what if
I grasp the hand
And stand up
And wander down a new path
I want to go back, back to my New Orleans
This place that I call New Orleans is actually Louisiana
But still, the gorgeousness of this dirt and grime
The live oaks stretching over the 6-lane wide streets,
Touching leaftips, making a canopy over the passerbys
Crepe myrtles showering streets with lacy pink faerie dresses
Smells of beignets and seafood fill the French Quarter
Intense, consuming, warm, loving sun burning through your shirt
In New Orleans to say horses sweat, men perspire and women glow
is to be ridiculous.
In New Orleans everyone sweats like pigs.
As for the grime I mentioned, this exists mainly in
the sidewalks cracked by live oaks which make an adventure of every walk down the street
And in any semi-deserted street
To have a Mardi Gras or St. Patrick's Day without a parade and citywide party is to toss aside traditions and the New Orleanian way
The New Orleanians are welcoming, hearty and heartwarming, tough and unafraid to talk to a stranger on the streets.
An old black man once greeted me with 'konichiwa' as I walked past
A middle aged white man once struck up a conversation with us as he realised we had shared the same ferry earlier in the day
An old asian woman conversed familiarly with our family at Cafe Du Monde simply because we are Vietnamese as well
A teenaged white boy waved at us as we drove past him jogging
A different old black man stopped and serenaded my siblings, mother and me with his trumpet just because we smiled
Several young mothers and women have stopped my mother to gush over my siblings and me, usually when we were very small
I, myself, have given directions to a tourist or two, lost near Cafe Du Monde or the levee,
And I hope that the warm smiling spirit of the Big Easy will remain forever immortal.
A million butterflies soar across the golden sky.
Maroon and silver wings, gracefully gliding into the summer sunset.
I smile in the glow of warmth that wraps me in good spirits.
Time ticks away but I don't notice.
Enveloped in the moment, surrounded by fate's welcoming arms.
Like sleeping in a bed of dainty purple and yellow flowers.
Soft, peaceful, beautiful.
Smile from ear to ear, like you've never smiled before.
Watching giant white fluffy clouds sail through the calm sky's waters.
The sun rises high and touches every spot on planet earth.
Nothing cold, nothing dark, only bright rays of warmth.
Euphoria that lifts you off your tired feet,
lifts your low spirit,
lifts your drained mood.
And fills you with love, passion, happiness and acceptance.
Save your sadness for another day.