In Memory of Hurricane Katrina, Part I

at landfall

for my father

 

as the television flickers geometric patterns in

reds, oranges, and yellows,

he stands watching, the lines

on his face illegible.

he sits on the couch;    the fabric and foam

imprint his body and memorize

his dimensions,

for later.

With each cushion’s mechanical sigh,

their inarticulation scripts the only language

he understands.

on the television now

the red swirls sharp circles.  when the colors

dance across his illiteracy, they

paint his face furious; they

paint it loud

 

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