Nancy Lee Johnson

Rape Of New Orleans

A lemon yellow sun rose in the eastern sky.
Trade winds met over warm tropical seas,
rippling the waters.
Breezes skimmed the surface
until it was time to risk the depth.
The rhythm of the waves quickened
by an ill mannered wind.
The storm hadn’t yet awakened to its full passion.

Momentum smolders, grows, builds to a fury.
The raw power of the wind
mixes with violent thunderstorms, torrential rains.
The voice of the storm becomes a deafening, shrieking roar.

Warm air is spiraling inward,
Moving faster and faster
as it seeks its center,
circling, curling until it finds its core.
Holding its breath, leaving air vibrating with uncomfortable silence
before it moves on
leaving a boiling sea behind the eye.

Ahead to the west
the somnolent southern coast slept,
exposed and vulnerable.
The first reaching fingers of the storm
softly, gently caressed the beaches.
It swiftly builds in force until it is one continuous moan,
driving higher, faster, trapped on the edge
of barriers.
Breaking free,
plundering, overpowering, devastating.
The earth shuddered, shifted,
stripped of its defenses.
Slowly, the weakened beast moved on.

A nation weeps.

And another breeze started in the east….

The terrible devastation of New Orleans caused by Katrina led me to write “the Rape of New Orleans”.