St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 (New Orleans)

Let tall grass grow where your heart used to beat.
Wind and water is other world, immaterial
in alabaster mansions, souls just out of reach.
Heat never dries the ground here, just bones.
We reconstitute at night as saints and haints,
loosed from our bags of flesh and out over the ramparts.
Storms come and go, along with disease,
they lined us along the levees in fever years.
City of despairing angels, this storm will pass,
give us your sons and daughters, keep your guns
and watches, we all lay back in darkness.
We laugh at dirt and damp, trying to reach up
and claim its prize.
- CK


Nick said…
Thanks for posting this!
Anonymous said…
I like this poem. It really says more than any rant or news link.

Kate Evans said…
very powerful, Collin. -Kate
M. Ru Pere said…
very nice - a cool way to end this day of remembrance - I love the first line esp - how it's iambic pentameter, you sneaky formalist :)
What a killer first line!
This is fine work Collin. The opening has great force. Thanks for the post.
M. Shahin said…
Very nice poem, nice flow of words.

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