Tag: Poetry

New Orleans14 Comments

Another Day On Delaronde

Zouxzoux

On Delaronde street sweat runs beneath 200 year old oaks and between breasts, over gnarly roots and down the curve of a belly. Words of love, a melody in French, weave through the plumbago screen hiding a pristine white gallery and wafts on down the street, fading into the distant sounds of river traffic. Laughter crackles with the clink of glasses leaking from behind wrought iron, amid the slightly rustling palmettos. Fans and pages turn, sun tanned legs stretch out. The day dissolves into evening. Time to light the candles and pour the wine. _____________________________________ Shared on dVerse Poets Pub. … Continue reading Another Day On Delaronde

New Orleans1 Comment

Vigilence

Zouxzoux

The crows call out from their perch on a crumbling cupola, looking down with their beady, suspicious eyes, puffing their feathers out as if shrugging off my stare. They call us out, these harbingers of  prophecy and revelation. Secrets are never hidden when viewed from above, but carried on wings of distortion and spread by sharp, cutting tongues. Continue reading Vigilence

New Orleans8 Comments

One Friday In August

Zouxzoux

It gave her a weird thrill, his hands were shaped like strawberries, emergency lights barely blinked at the voice in her ear sliding down her throat all the way to the base, small talk about a storm brewing in the Gulf, surrounded by cypress trees and lily padded bayous, a weathered table by the window, phantom picnics interrupted. Obsession probably killed her; her eyes were blank, the world forgotten. _____________________________________ Shared on dVerse Poets Pub. Continue reading One Friday In August

New Orleans12 Comments

It’s the Waiting That Kills You

Zouxzoux

Sometimes you talk, sometimes you don’t, sometimes you want to but can’t. You watch the numbers on all the machines that are supporting her life, you note them and compare them to the numbers from the day before, the week before and the month before. You wash her face, lubricate her lips and wait for the few precious seconds she opens her eyes and wonder if it’s just a reflex or a reaction to your voice. You lotion up her hands and feet then rotate them and stretch out her fingers. You leave the room after the 30 minute visiting … Continue reading It’s the Waiting That Kills You

New Orleans2 Comments

The Waiting Room

Charlotte Hamrick

Twilight from closed curtains is soothing for sleep deprived eyes. Quiet whispers, families contemplate ventilators, sedated loved ones and impending doctor visits. Sweet cleaning lady empties the trash cans of crumpled coffee cups and “breakfast on the go” bags, swabs the wet floor of steamy bathrooms recently cleansing the tired bodies and flagging spirits of the ones who live in the waiting room. It’s 11:00, time for the second visit of the day and the ritual walk down the long hall to the SICU. Continue reading The Waiting Room