Big Easy Poem by Sherry Asbury

Magnolia-honey air, heavy with heat.
Kudzu vines twining, knitting the city.
Spanish moss masks the old hoyden,
and she manages to think herself pretty.

Shutters and fans lazily stirring keep
the suffocating heat of afternoon at bay.
Lanais and balconies, sanctuary given,
folks resting, until cool enough to play.

Languid, lazy persistence of mosquitoes,
hands too enervated to swat them away.
Down Bourbon a honky tonk is whispering,
birds and butterflies hide from heat of day.

Bawdy houses and mansions, quaint cafes.
Charm oozes from the Big Easy’s pores.
Secrets and antiquities languish behind
ancient shops with their ancient doors.

Now a muddy ruin, wiped from the earth.
No more Mardi Gras and ladies teas or riots.
Just a flow of muddy rubble and water rising.
And the Big Easy is dying as its chaos quiets.

Can she rise again as the south did long ago?
Can she pick up her skirts and refuse to fade?
A southern lady is a strong woman, defiant
under her petticoats, Big Easy, quality-made!