~ On The Water ~

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Cahoula

The smell of its murky water

The sounds of ships and ferries going by

The way the wind echoes across it

The way it looks against a stormy sky

To be there when the sun is rising

To be there when the sun has set

It can be experienced in a million different ways

And each one

Is better than the next

The smell of it

Finds its way into your bloodstream

The site of it

Finds its way into your soul

&

The sound of it

Plays out like music

That will forever remind you of home

Written by G.,G.Rae
Copyright © 2003
Ginger Gonzales 
All Rights Reserve

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Gone

The truth was hard to hear at first

Then it was hard to see

Since it has been hard to believe or even understand

But more than anything it has been hard to forget

My mind is an overloaded mess
It took me so long to make sense of everything and put it in its place
But in its place it no longer sits

The water came in
Dark and muddy
It stayed awhile
Covering everything with mud and mold

It rotted the ceilings and walls
It took the floorboards out of the attic
It blurred the pictures
Smeared the words
It took away everything that was familiar
Never to give it back

Grateful to be alive
Feeling like that should be enough

No more job
No more school
Temporary home after temporary home
Family and friends scattered across the map

I walked away from the mess
But I can still see it when I close my eyes
It follows me
It haunts me
It feels like I’m still wadding through the mud
My nose still burns from the smell
My skin still crawls from the sight of the flies covering the ground
I can still taste the salty tears on my cheek

I said goodbye
But I did not let go

I was alive
But my life was gone

Written by G.,G.Rae

Copyright © 2005

Ginger Gonzales

All Rights Reserve

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The Parish


I miss the summer storms in The Parish

I miss how you could smell them coming

I miss the violence of the thunder & lightning

And the smell of the hot wet roads

I miss winters at The Island

I miss the haunting sound of a northwest front rolling in over the Corrales

I miss spending hours out in the type of cold that chills you to the bone

And I miss the warmth of that old drafty house

I miss current cruising in my pirogue

Living in the water

Living in my tent across the bayou

And I miss sitting on the bridge at night at The End of the World

I miss never wearing shoes

The feel of the soft black dirt under my bare feet

I miss hunting & fishing & swimming whenever I wanted to

I miss working on the boats

Pulling crab traps

Picking shrimp

I miss walking everywhere because I didn’t have a car

I miss building tanks at the refinery

Repairing appliances with my Dad

I miss walking in The French Quarter when it was empty

I miss the haunting sound of music that echoed through the streets

And watching the sunrise over the river on the roof top of some random hotel

And I miss sitting on the bridge at night at The End of the World

~ The Parish ~

Copyright © 2011

Ginger Gonzales

All Rights Reserved