When the Levees Broke & the Moon Surrendered the Stars

Each morning, she watched me leave

my white chalk drawings on the blackboard
before the other students

shuffled in to first-hour English.

I drew the cloud cats

dancing with the rain fish.

I drew the blue 'coon
and the haunted playground.

I drew the doomed river's

dime-store soliloquy,

the wounded moon's final scene.

I drew the buzz-saw at Wilson's mill

screaming through pine logs.

I drew the sawdust piling up

faster than the shadow boy could sweep.

She folded the note
she left on my desk
into a paper crane.

You dress my memories in a shroud,

she said.
You perform the last offices of night.