Like most people, I have been moved and traumatized by the impact of Hurricane Katrina on the Gulf Coast. I am a Southerner, a native of Jackson, Mississippi, and have lots of friends and family who have suffered to varying degrees.
Today (September 1) is my birthday, and I was inspired to write this poem on the situation in New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Lots of people in St. Louis have relatives, friends, acquaintances or good memories of time spent on the Coast and, like me, are experiencing their own personal grief. I hope this poem will be a comfort, and a call to action.
Freida L. Wheaton
Submitted via email
Refugee
By Freida L. Wheaton
From the Mohammedan mosque
To the Holy See
The time and gods have captured me
The parted waters
To my knees
I am not a refugee.
The land we share
No fences to be
To travel from sea to shining sea
A state line is not a border to flee
I am not a refugee.
Rwanda, Niger, Uzbekistan
I tried to hold her by the hand
My baby lost
My feet, my knees
My heart my soul
Please someone help me.
The skies are blue
The sun is hot
Nothing but misery for me and you
Christian, Muslim, Atheist, Jew
Protected by dusk to dawn curfew.
I hunger
I hurt
I thirst
I die
I cannot scream
I cannot cry
America, red, white and blue
I search and search and search for you.
Through muddied waters
Trash
Debris
Is Justice Blind?
Can she see?
Doesn’t she know
I’m supposed to be free?
This City of charm
Captivates us all
The Day of the Dead
Mardi Gras
All Saints Day
They all marched in
A sea of tranquility
Den of iniquity.
A mushroom cloud
The dome could be
Some already compare it to
Nagasaki
The stench
Disease
The misery
I feel like I am a refugee.
I teach
A nurse
Bus driver
We flee
Jazz
Gumbo
Pralines
Iced tea
From Jackson Square
To Gentilly
Don’t call me a refugee.
Sitting on the curb
Hanging from a tree
I watch the helpless
The little preemies
The sick
Infirm
The blind
And me
Hospital, Church and University
Don’t call me what you want me to be
I am not a refugee!
From far away the stores beckon me
Pampers, Snickers, Cokes and Cheese
I cannot pay
I force my way
To feed my babies
They are hungry.
Brother, sister, cousin, niece
Mother, Daddy, Nephew, Auntie
Uncle, Grandma, Grandpa
I plea
Why hast Thou forsaken me?
I’m safe
I’m here
I thought I was free.
The waters rose till I could not see
I climbed the ladder
To wait for Thee
Jacob, Job, Cynthia, Marie
Bubba, Kimmie, Ramon, Che
Anwar, Jamil, Monica and me.
I am not a refugee.
And as night falls
I face the East
I call a Rabbi
I call a Priest
I pray to God
To set me free.
I am not a refugee.