A Statement on the City

I was never a New Orleanian until after the storm. Everyone tiptoed around me in Colorado, sneaking furtive stares. "Her city has died," they whispered. "Look at her crying." And then New Orleans was my city, and I had to be in it. Because they did not understand. Because my city could not be dead. Because it belonged in this bowl they all said it should never have been built in. Because it was not I who cried, but the city.