For the Old Port, built and built again:
I am sure you’re indifferent to me.
We are kin, though; we are both
refuge and warmth, competition and
hope, connected by seas. your boats
here are plentiful, but your huddled
masses are greater; I feel no one
sings the songs of our kind anymore,
no one notes our role in safe
passage. Forgive me if i’ve been too
invested, too idealistic about our sisterhood.
Perhaps it’s our shared brownness,
our shared tides, our shared resilience
against time and the fickleness of men
that made us so connected as if i could
leap from notre dame and descend into
us with love, our songs and sorrows guiding me
over rooftops and café smoke plumes. Unsung saints,
lying open for the world, if the lost and found
won’t buttress us with honor,
we shall always
hold each other.