My journey towards walking again began
last week. I am able to put weight on my cast. Although I'm pretty good with
hoisting my body on crutches, I am relieved to be walking. Soon I won't need a cane or the cast I've been wearing for the past two months. Thank you to
everyone for your healing thoughts and positive energy. La Bloga took a little
hit this Summer with my broken leg and Michael Sedano's scare in the emergency room, but we are back stronger. While I didn't have Sedano's mandate from ancestors to go
back in line, I did experience an epiphany of sorts while under heavy hospital drugs, where I was dropped into the sea of love and realized that
everything is love.
The last time I was at Avery
Island, several alligators emerged from the swamp. Luckily, I jumped in the car
before they got too close. Avery island is ideal for someone with mobility
issues. You can tour the entire island from your car, get out and sit at the
different stops. The island is best known for its production of Tabasco sauce. At the factory, you can try Tabasco ice
cream and different flavors of Tabasco sauce.
Maple Leaf Rag V, Portal Press 2014 |
SRO crowd at the back patio of the Maple Leaf Bar |
Reading a poem at the Maple Leaf Bar's back patio |
The next day, last Sunday, I
participated in the celebration for the Maple Leaf Rag V Anthology. The Maple
Leaf Bar is the oldest running poetry reading series in the South. Started by Everett
Maddox Maddox, the series has continued for thirty-five years.
Currently, poet Nancy Harris took over the series after Everett's death in
1989. Publisher John Travis, owner of Portals Press has published the last four
Maple Leaf Rag Anthologies. I have had the honor of being published in the last two
volumes, along with my favorite South Louisiana writer, Steve Beisner.
hold
her close
Steve Beisner
new orleans has wet and mud where
people walk and stand
and know the earth they’re livin' on
and how it feels to hold her close
through her nearby marshes oil canals cut obscenely straight
and narrow
run miles through watery green, a highway of danger for
muskrats and nutria
leafy sinews strangle the house who
lost her family two summers ago
soon, with no friend, losing her battle with flora, ruin
potholes kill and eat incautious cars
where there're guns enough
that someone always wants to see what
steel and absent hope can do
you choose your costume for the day
to say yesterday's gone,
tomorrow's not come and you got one
shot at now
overhead the white-cloud virginal
bandana floats, a hand's wavin’
sayin' my life's an all night dance
and I mean somethin' by it
the lady says, how you doin' and
really wants you to know that
different got it all over respectable
and a little crazy ain't bad either
you’re no stranger after a beer and
swapped stories in the cool dark bar
you want today's road to be one
you'll still remember tomorrow
the meaning of barstool stories is
not in the words,
but how they dart and pause, unwrap
and disrobe the tellers
new orleans has wet and mud where
people walk and stand
and know the earth they’re livin' on
and how it feels to hold her close
Wonderful blog, Melinda. You look great. And I love Steve's poem. It's a knockout and so true. He nailed the place and the way people feel about it.
ReplyDeleteMelinda, you are indeed close to no more cast. I loved the blog and Steve's poem. Be safe.
ReplyDelete