Nawlins

streets still torn
mattress-filled dumpsters
lining construction site
houses one in ten redone
the haves still standing
tall and beautiful streetcar
reminds me of my childhood
in Brazil where jumping
on was the mode of transportation
men hanging off the sides unlike
here where tourists and workers
ride enclosed and people cross
the tracks unaware of each other’s
sorrows we gather with our loved
ones, missed so long embracing
grand kids not the tourist traps
that want our bucks a wedding
for the magazines jazz band
marching to some forgotten loving
way to jump the broom a culture deep
a way oppressed now displayed but still
not honored my heart is broken open
sweet grief and joy mingle down the
river walk and bourbon street spills
neat beating to the dance of our family’s sweet feet

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