Garden District
New Orleans, 2009

After the parade, we walk back to my car
for a nap
I lie back under my sleeping bag in the driver’s seat
He reads Walt Whitman aloud to me
As I drift off into sleep
Open my eyes to the homes of the Garden District
With their hidden stories
And two drunken girls
Making animal noises into the night
His words embrace me,
his gentle, gentle sweetness
I could almost kiss him

 


 

---

What Matters

“I like how people look out
for one another here,”
I say to the older woman
with a heavy moustache
“All we have is each other” is her response.

 

---

Passing Time

I take in the energy of places
I’m not sure I understand what that means
But I know it to be true
I pace the quarter with its bright yellow buildings and lush plants
With its Mardi Gras beads and lemon-scented street washing
I chat with men who claim to be Voo-Doo Priests and
men whose eyes undress me.

 

---

**************************************************************************************************************************************
All images and writing are copyrighted.  These stories will be published by 2012.
Printed version available upon request.
All feedback and comments are welcome.  Please send to blissmeander at gmail.com