“This is our tsunami,” the Biloxi mayor says.
Mom and I are watching TV in her hospital room.
All we can find is Hurricane Katrina.
Today Mom almost died. She doesn’t know that yet.
Tomorrow she will get the pacemaker
that won’t let her heart slow down again,
slow down almost to a stop.
But first we have to get through tonight.
I have to get through a night when she turns
evil eyes on me.
“Psst! Psst! Go to bed!
Quit making all that noise!”
Footsteps upstairs, carts outside our door,
beeping machines, toilets flushing,
deaths on TV. All my fault.
“Go to bed, Judith Ann,
before I take a stick to your behind!”
And on TV, the horror mounts.
Water rises, bodies float.
The anger in the Superdome erupts.