The primordial captured in a park.
The remnant bayou and old growth of live oak,
cloaked in resurrection fern, crow home and owl haunt;
crenellations of cypress knees stand guard against flood. Pines rise in defiance of the Gulf’s summer fury, limbs lost,
trunks tilted but unbroken. This insistent forest, older than
the centuries of city across the newcomer sidewalks.
Now comes among the birds and squirrels: sneakers,
wheels spinning by twos and strolling by fours, former
wolves leashed, mostly obedient. Low hanging oak
branches welcome the children of children to once again
climb their earthed extensions toward a crowning sky.
Picnics litter the tamed lawns scattered between trees.
City Park
One response to “City Park”
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Yeah, yes!
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About Me
Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis, What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).
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Well Bottom Blues 
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