KATRINA

The ancients would have called her Fury.

She came, the trackers said, from Africa.

           Dark continent.

And came ferocious, signifying something.

              Unchained.

                         Unchainable.

Crazed thought torrent, supine in this crawlspace, windowless.

Slivers of light mark the days.

Where are they?

"Sometimes", Auntie said, "your darker skin will make you invisible."

Where are they?

Golden stopped barking tonight, fourth night.

Instead, he howls, sounding out, it seems, his own kind:

   Invisible dogs in a grievous gulf.

Today the folks renamed this temporary home,

held a formal christening.

The captain just rolled his eyes.

There are two Katrinas here.  One, a young girl,

took a fancy to Golden, who loves to chase and fetch

her red baton as it skitters down the anchored deck of the

good ship, cruise ship....  DIASPORA.