(no subject)
The line of demarkation was obvious
Down Veterans highway passing all of the verdant greenery until you pass Lake Avenue
There is where the grey death begins
Miles and Miles and Miles of it
The entry into Orleans Parish overloads every sense
The boats run aground littering the Neutral Grounds
The color of death is not black or white, it is grey
The toxic smell of the dirt, feces, floating bodies, chemicals surrounds you
engulfing you and burning your throat if you dare to take off your face mask
One vision more horrifying than the next
Bucktown destroyed
Through a destroyed Lakeview
To Gentilly where they are still trying to patch the levee's and spray painting body count numbers, 8 was a number at the corner
The assesor told me not to come, that the only thing they could do is bulldoze my neighborhood, and they were not prepared to have people back in my area
there was no traffic in Orleans parish
Just lost souls trying to pick through the ashes, mold, and debris to rescue some little scrap of what used to be their life
Every last one of those souls knows the color of death is grey
The debris that had once been their lives was far from the important part
There they stood looking, hoping against hope that their loved ones-
Family, neighbors and friends would happen into the toxic muck to get at least one last hug and a phone number
All those close scattered to the four winds
A wave of despair washed over me
An insane voice saying there is nothing to live for there is no end to the toxic death
I did not continue further into the devestation that is New Orleans east or turn right and go down Franklin Avenue to the 9th ward
I know that there waiting is more grey toxic death until you hit water where people used to be
Now they merged with the Gulf of Mexico
Who will care for the City that Care Forgot?
Standing to the doorway of my home, unable to enter because the cabinets had been pulled off of the wall and along with shattering their glass contents were jamming the door closed
Fear reached into the bottom of my stomach
Why was I even go, there is nothing, it was folly and the toxic dust kept stinging my chest
Back into the car, maybe..just maybe
Down St. Bernard Avenue, an unfamiliar car parked outside my best friends house
Wow, a side door open
A miracle, there she was, my daughters god parent, someone who I had laughed with, cried with, had crawfish boils with and loved like a sister
Nobody else on the street but more people taking body counts and there we gathered
To smile at each other, exchange new numbers, plan to get together for lunch, have a sip of water and sigh with relief that we were still alive she is living in Baton Rouge now, she choked back tears , no she has no job and doesn't know where she will settle
My new friend Caroline got to meet my old friend Violet as some news crew in a big tour bus flmed us, they were driving through the destruction
The cameraman looked back at me then hanged his head, in apology it seemed to me
We made our way back out of the grey dead city, through the lovely green Jefferson Parish,
Some people stopping you when you leave to give you an extra bottle of water, a chocolate bar and trying to sell their brand of salvation
Onward across the bridge looking into the toxic water that had filled the city twice and would gladly do so again at the first signs of bad weather
My mind and thoughts still in that Grey Zone of the Mixed Middle Class neighborhood, called Gentilly where everyone loved each other and if you were going to the store you asked all of your surrounding neighbors if they wanted to come along to 'make groceries'
Is there anywhere in this country where the words mixed and middle class merge together or was New Orleans really an alternate universe?
To all of those who have lost loved ones, friends, homes, cars, and everything you ever knew please KNOW in your heart that there is a tomorrow and I love you ....I love you so very much and you are so very special...please call or write me......I care... I will be there and still call you friend
Love ya,
Sunny
Down Veterans highway passing all of the verdant greenery until you pass Lake Avenue
There is where the grey death begins
Miles and Miles and Miles of it
The entry into Orleans Parish overloads every sense
The boats run aground littering the Neutral Grounds
The color of death is not black or white, it is grey
The toxic smell of the dirt, feces, floating bodies, chemicals surrounds you
engulfing you and burning your throat if you dare to take off your face mask
One vision more horrifying than the next
Bucktown destroyed
Through a destroyed Lakeview
To Gentilly where they are still trying to patch the levee's and spray painting body count numbers, 8 was a number at the corner
The assesor told me not to come, that the only thing they could do is bulldoze my neighborhood, and they were not prepared to have people back in my area
there was no traffic in Orleans parish
Just lost souls trying to pick through the ashes, mold, and debris to rescue some little scrap of what used to be their life
Every last one of those souls knows the color of death is grey
The debris that had once been their lives was far from the important part
There they stood looking, hoping against hope that their loved ones-
Family, neighbors and friends would happen into the toxic muck to get at least one last hug and a phone number
All those close scattered to the four winds
A wave of despair washed over me
An insane voice saying there is nothing to live for there is no end to the toxic death
I did not continue further into the devestation that is New Orleans east or turn right and go down Franklin Avenue to the 9th ward
I know that there waiting is more grey toxic death until you hit water where people used to be
Now they merged with the Gulf of Mexico
Who will care for the City that Care Forgot?
Standing to the doorway of my home, unable to enter because the cabinets had been pulled off of the wall and along with shattering their glass contents were jamming the door closed
Fear reached into the bottom of my stomach
Why was I even go, there is nothing, it was folly and the toxic dust kept stinging my chest
Back into the car, maybe..just maybe
Down St. Bernard Avenue, an unfamiliar car parked outside my best friends house
Wow, a side door open
A miracle, there she was, my daughters god parent, someone who I had laughed with, cried with, had crawfish boils with and loved like a sister
Nobody else on the street but more people taking body counts and there we gathered
To smile at each other, exchange new numbers, plan to get together for lunch, have a sip of water and sigh with relief that we were still alive she is living in Baton Rouge now, she choked back tears , no she has no job and doesn't know where she will settle
My new friend Caroline got to meet my old friend Violet as some news crew in a big tour bus flmed us, they were driving through the destruction
The cameraman looked back at me then hanged his head, in apology it seemed to me
We made our way back out of the grey dead city, through the lovely green Jefferson Parish,
Some people stopping you when you leave to give you an extra bottle of water, a chocolate bar and trying to sell their brand of salvation
Onward across the bridge looking into the toxic water that had filled the city twice and would gladly do so again at the first signs of bad weather
My mind and thoughts still in that Grey Zone of the Mixed Middle Class neighborhood, called Gentilly where everyone loved each other and if you were going to the store you asked all of your surrounding neighbors if they wanted to come along to 'make groceries'
Is there anywhere in this country where the words mixed and middle class merge together or was New Orleans really an alternate universe?
To all of those who have lost loved ones, friends, homes, cars, and everything you ever knew please KNOW in your heart that there is a tomorrow and I love you ....I love you so very much and you are so very special...please call or write me......I care... I will be there and still call you friend
Love ya,
Sunny