Return to New Orleans

Today, walking stacks, brushing fingertips against spines,

tears well up and spill over levees long ago breached.

 

That first time, only three months pregnant and

still not showing, the walk one-way easily took

twenty-nine minutes.

It took thirty-eight by May, and by the time the

baby stretched skin past its breaking point and

late August sun sapped my fortitude, the 

eleven block walk was waddled in

forty-seven.

 

Alone I walked, alone I carried

much more than baby and books.

 

Almost forty years have past since

hard stone, brittle glass, and fragile paper

were the substance of that long summer, but

standing on those library steps today

I fall back into a flood of memories and drown.

Notes: 

Poetic Asides Prompt: Day One

The prompt for day one is to write a lonely poem. The narrator could be lonely. Someone or something in the poem could be lonely. Or the poem itself could try to evoke a feeling of loneliness for the reader.