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
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