Carrie At Cafe Du Monde

Her voice was soft on the telephone She had gentility, like the part of the city she once lived We talked of tragedy and chicory coffee My friends had told me the situation was still grim I asked her of Galatoire's and Brennan's Of the Ninth Ward, and of her home While I, pining and homesick, sipped coffee the color Of the mulatto Mississippi River. . . So polite and patient she was For one who had lost everything