the look of fellowship

the bright-colored and
shiny-shine of mardi gras beads
tossed into telephone wires and
tree limbs and street signs
draped there
bright in the afternoon light as we walk
out of the edge of the park and
onto campus
two kids fighting over a bike
that doesn’t belong to the neither of them
nel writes a scene

filled with sound and movement and personality

you can just rip it in half i say to nel
in the community college classroom
about the half of the fish po’ boy
that i know is too big
for me to finish myself
now that’s the look of fellowship
ali says about the glance
that jennifer and i pass back and forth
from our places
in the circle of desks gathered

the wind pulls all of her words away

are you editing my hair she asks
while i rearrange the grayblack swoop
across her forehead

tomb tops we, perhaps appropriately joke
and misspeak at the same time
(what better official wear
for the city of new orleans)

how the wind pulls all of her words away from me
before they can land in the nest of my ears
as we walk ourselves clear
across the city of new orleans

some kind of beacon

it’s wild in here i say about
the unmowed green things growing up
on all sides over the sidewalk edges and
sprawling out from there
from the mostly unpeopled northeast end of city park
spirit house it is called
the teal/blue house public art sculpture
cut like a papercut art
and filled with light
in the median

some kind of beacon in the night as we wait
for bus 51 (st. bernard)
to scoop us and send us
(*where we are staying for the next
three nights)

for settin in

so many chairs out
just for settin’ in as seen from the train window while we
roll our way from houston to new orleans
(chairs in fields in the middle of nothing else,
chairs in slow and quiet streets,
chairs alongside rice crops and dead ends
chairs on porches and in driveways
chairs under the shade
of great trees)