(A Sestina based on an abandoned amusement park in New Orleans)
God’s hands make me sway
Perhaps you could call it
the wind,
But I’m sure it’s your
savior above.
His presence keeps me from
truly being alone
When no child or man comes
here.
When all I hear is silence.
Silence.
Silence.
It’s the suffering you get
in silence
That sustains the body’s
sway
When no one else can come
here.
My home is locked courtesy
of the Devil’s wind,
Which leaves all of us
children of mirth alone
With nothing but the sun and
God above.
Above.
Above our poor souls.
I reach my arms out to the
sky above
And the chain ever so
slightly breaks the silence
Which has me believing we
will always be alone.
I remember how the children
would sit and sway
Anticipating the soon-to-be
rushing wind
And they would scream, “I
love being here!”
Here.
Here with me.
But that idea of wanting to
be here
Is gone like so many of the
clouds above
That were moved that day
thanks to His wind.
I am left with their gazes
and their silence.
I am left watching their
hips move and sway
Toward their destroyed homes
that also left them alone.
Alone.
Alone with or without him.
I once heard a man say he
knew the horror of being alone.
He told another man that was
the reason he came here
And watched those flags and
boards in the wind sway.
Because he knew when he was
with others up above…
When he was with them on the
roller coaster just before losing silence,
He knew he and the others
were not alone in the wind.
Wind.
Wind rushing through us.
But he doesn’t come here
anymore to talk about the wind.
None of them come to help us
not be alone.
No, they leave us to our
silence.
They think, “Who would come
here?”
And they think about when
the water was above
And the winds made their
solid houses sway.
Sway.
Sway with the Devil’s
scream.
So my chairs sway in the
wind
As those people who are
above being alone
Leave me here in my silence.
Silence.
Silence.
And wind.
And Him.
