sitting, watching, waiting

SITTING.
Ms. Williams sat on her steps, breathing in each shovel-full of black moldy debris we carried out. Every day I wanted to tell her to move, but I don’t think she let one shovel go by without her eye on it. She watched the remains of her candy shop pile up on the side of the road, only to wait for the big truck to come carry it all on to that final resting place that has us all in denial of its existence. Yes, this trash all goes somewhere. It’s all torn apart and crushed and compacted, and then, it just sits like Ms. Williams does… for eternity it seems, with perpetual youth that outlasts her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren… mostly cause they got cancer from the trash that sits.
WATCHING.
In the church St Drexel built, we sat and watched as Ms. Pierce stood before the congregation in tears. Her name was on every free gutting service list available. Her house sat untouched, except for the broken window and keepsakes thrown around by looters who found nothing to their value. Her brother left town and vowed to never come back. Her neighborhood abandoned her too, except for the lanky man in the FEMA trailer on the corner who’d lean on his cane and watch us work, casting skinny shadows in the New Orleans sun. Maybe he had to gut his house himself. Maybe he watched us, wondering how Ms. Pierce moved up on those lists. I don’t know, but he watched. Ms. Pierce claims it was a miracle.
WAITING.
It’s raining today and I’m remembering how badly the streets flooded when it rained in St. Bernard. I sat next to a young mother and two of her sons at dinner one night. She said she’s afraid she brought them back too early. Maybe they should have stayed in Texas longer. The one boy clutched her, terrified of the rain, shaking at each pounding on the metal roof. She looked at me and told me he’s waiting for another hurricane. From the start of June till the end of November they wait, knowing any day could bring another Katrina. From December till the end of May they’re still waiting… $100 billion was promised them, and nobody has gotten a cent.
sitting.
They sit in front of their TV sets and hear all the bad news. They sit and criticize Bush and everyone else they can blaim except for their lazy selves… saying the government should go in there and fix things.
It took me nine months to realize that’s me.
watching.
I show them pictures, tell them stories, send home video just so they’ll get an idea of the chaos. They watch it and I still hear, “Aren’t things cleaned up yet?”
waiting.
Ms. Williams is waiting for the money to hang sheetrock on her bare studs.
Ms. Pierce waits to see if her home’s worth bulldozing.
The boy waits for the hurricane.
I’m waiting for a chronic disease.
We’re all waiting to finally go home.