The rains have arrived,

Remnants of the hurricane.

If I go outside and lift my face,

Will I taste the salt tang of gulf waters,

Hear the faint sound of Parlez Nous A Boire drift on the wind,

Catch the tantalizing scent of my father’s gumbo?

Or will I find the salt of tears cried by all who’ve lost,

Hear the shriek of a roof as it is torn away,

And smell the smoke from fires that cannot be quenched?

Nostalgia is easy for me,

For I am in the mountains and far from this devastation.

I am geographically lucky at the moment.