UAB Digital Commons (Univ. of Alabama at Birmingham)

Henry, Krystal K

PoemMemoirStory (literary 
magazine) 
Volume 06 Article 41 
2006 
Katrina and Why I Hate Her 
Krystal K. Henry 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms 
 Part of the Creative Writing Commons, and the English Language and Literature Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Henry, Krystal K. (2006) "Katrina and Why I Hate Her," PoemMemoirStory (literary magazine): Vol. 06, 
Article 41. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms/vol06/iss2006/41 
This content has been accepted for inclusion by an authorized administrator of the UAB Digital Commons, and is 
provided as a free open access item. All inquiries regarding this item or the UAB Digital Commons should be 
directed to the UAB Libraries Office of Scholarly Communication. 
Krystal K. Henry 
KATRINA AND WHY I HATE HER 
I was chilling in Hollygrove, a part of the seventeenth ward in 
New Orleans. It was Sunday morning, August 28, 2005. On the 
news, they were saying that they had called a mandatory evacu-
ation for the city of New Orleans. At first, I wanted to leave 
because I got scared. I said to myself, "out of all of the years that 
I'd been living in New Orleans, to the best of my knowledge, 
they have never called a mandatory evacuation." The news 
was making things sound so harsh. They said that there would 
be a 25-foot water surge, massive flooding, etc. I didn't know 
what to do. All of my sisters had left already. The only people 
left behind were me, my grandma, and my brother. My brother, 
Do-Right, and I didn't want to leave Cramps in the house by 
herself, that's why we stayed. I figured it wouldn't be so bad 
to stay after all because out of all of the years New Orleans 
had hurricane warnings, it wasn't too detrimental. My Uncle 
Richard came by later that night. He brought Rhonda, his friend, 
so she could keep Cramps some company. He made sure we 
had everything we needed. He left after that. The night passed. 
It was Monday, August 29, 2005. Of course, the power had 
gone out. I awoke around 7:11 a.m. and Hurricane Katrina was 
in effect. I watched her through the bars of the iron gates at the 
door. All I could see was high winds and rain. I wanted to go 
on the porch but had fears that I was going to be blown away. 
There had been some flooding out there. The water was about 
one foot. Around 9:51 a.m., the water had risen. Between 12:10 
p.m. and 12:31 p.m., the water constantly rose. The winds had 
died down. The water started to decrease very little. We con-
stantly listened to the radio for the duration of the day. On the 
radio, they said that the storm had passed over New Orleans. 
But, guess what? It wasn't over. That was just the beginning. 
We were relieved thinking that the storm had passed over. Later 
that night, Cramps cooked some beef stew for us. I was half 
way asleep. It smelled real good. I was hungry but was too lazy 
to get up and fix me some. I just stayed in the bed. 
The next morning we awoke. It was Tuesday, August 30, 
2005. Around 6:40 a.m., the sun was rising. To my surprise, 
91 
Henry 
the water had increased by two feet. I knew it had increased 
because I measured it by looking at the mark on my car, which 
was parked across the street from the house. The water was 
at the door handle. How could this have happened? As time 
passed, the water kept rising. It had gotten to the fourth step 
of the porch. Was I dreaming or what? I looked at my car and 
the water was at the bottom of the window. It looked like Lake 
Ponchartrain out there. To me, that was something you see in 
movies. As time progressed, the water kept rising. Cramps 
kept saying, "Well, it shouldn't get any worse." I told her, "You 
never know. You got to expect the unexpected." She wanted to 
wait in the house and continue to ride the storm out. I didn't 
think that was a bright idea. 
I walked inside. Guess what? Water was on the floor in the 
living room. It crept through the walls on the side of the house. 
Cramps got some sheets and put it on the floor to soak up the 
water. At first, it worked, but more and more water was enter-
ing the house. We packed up a few articles of clothing in case 
we had to leave. Each of us had a small bag. We started placing 
things that were important to us up high. I put the majority of 
my clothes and shoes up high above the closet, close to the ceil-
ing. Outside, the water was at about four feet. I kept saying that 
I was going to walk through the water. It was dirty and full of 
dirt, trash, trash cans, motor oil, gasoline, trees, leaves, and who 
knows what else. Richard came back to check on us to see if we 
were still alright. He left, saying that he was going to come back 
with a boat to get us. About one hour and a half had passed. 
Richard never showed up. We decided to leave. 
Where were we going? No one had a clue. We stepped off 
the porch. The water was up to my chest. We had to walk slow-
ly because the street contained many potholes. To top that off, 
fallen objects were also in the street. We walked in a train-like 
procession down Dublin St. We turned left on S. Claiborne Ave. 
We arrived at the intersection of S. Carrolton and S. Claiborne. 
There people were waiting to be rescued by an army crew. 
There were many people standing there. We kept walking down 
Claiborne because we didn't know where they were being 
taken. As we walked down Claiborne, there were a couple of 
dry spots towards people's houses. The water was knee-high. 
People were going off into gas stations taking bins of cigarettes, 
cold drinks, food, etc. There were stop signs that sunk into the 
ground. Water was bursting out of the sewers. Boocoo cars were 
92 
po memoir , ry 
under water, Other people were walking through the water. 
Someone had told us that the Salvc:ition Army on Claiborne was 
taking people in. So that's where we continued to walk. 
The water in front of the Salvation Army was kind of deep. 
It reached my neck. Cramps was scared. A man had helped her 
through the water. When we got to the door at Salvation Army, 
we couldn't get in. The man in charge was being real arrogant. 
We waited outside the building for about thirty minutes then he 
finally let us in. Thank God! When we got in there, we sat at a 
table. We had nothing to eat but some candy and chips that Do-
Right and I had gotten out of a gas station. Night started to fall 
and more people were at the door trying to get in. The man in 
charge was still with his arrogant ways. There were old women, 
kids, and the parents of kids at the door. The man finally decid-
ed to let the people in. As time went on, water started to get 
inside of the building. We went and changed our wet clothes 
and put on some dry ones. As the water started to flow through 
the doors, we were forced to move to a higher floor. Do-Right 
got separated from us. The men went to the second floor. The 
ladies went to the third floor. We had to sleep on hard marble 
floors. What an uncomfortable feeling. I took my bag and used 
it as a pillow for some kind of support. It was kind of cool on 
the floor. I took one of the skirts that I had in my bag and put 
it over my arms. That night I heard babies crying, children get-
ting fussed at, and people snoring. Not one time was there any 
silence and I still couldn't believe what was happening. I want-
ed to take a bath so bad. I was all itchy and stuff. 
It was Wednesday, August 31, 2005. We awoke. People were 
coming by to look for their families. Some people left. (Keep 
in mind it was still flooded outside.) My grandma said that 
the Salvation Army was the safest place to be at. That morn-
ing, they gave us some peaches to eat and in the afternoon, 
they gave us a ham sandwich, some cookies, a piece of a boiled 
egg, and some juice. It wasn't too bad. I had to eat it because I 
wanted to survive. Throughout the day, I had fears about dying 
because I felt as if no one would come to rescue us. Helicopters 
and people in boats were passing us by. Some people went to 
the window to get some help by flagging a white sheet outside. 
The man in charge told them not to do it. "Why not?" I thought. 
They did it anyway. It was a hell of a boring day. Some men 
had gone in Walgreen's to get more food and drinks. At least 
that's what I thought. They came back with shirts, cigarettes, 
93 
Henry 
food, water, Gatorade, radios, and chips. People in there were 
going crazy behind the cigarettes. Everyone would get up and 
bum rush just to try and get something. I attempted a few times 
to try and get something but was too late. Everything had run 
out. The last time I tried I got something: a Gatorade. Like that 
was so much. That evening, some men came by in a boat and 
told us that they were going to send someone to come and get 
us in the morning at 8 a.m. That relieved me a little bit. I went 
to sleep that night on a blue placemat. It was better than sleep-
ing on the floor. 
September the first awakened me with her sunlight through 
the window. It was about 7:30 a.m. Everyone was getting ready 
to leave. People were packing their bags. They were telling 
us we only needed to bring one bag because there was a lim-
ited amount of space. Everyone waited for someone to come 
and rescue us. 8 a.m. came and went. At 9:30 a.m. still no one 
showed up. I said to myself, "I'm gonna die." Why did I have 
so much negativity running through my body? I wasn't mad 
but I wanted to cry badly. To occupy my time, I read through 
some sections of an encyclopedia. My brother walked through 
the door. I was very happy to see him. I talked to him for a 
little while. Then he went back to the second floor. I didn't do 
too much that day. All I did was worry and worry and worry. 
I did so much worrying I worried myself to the placemat to go 
to sleep. While I was on the placemat, I prayed and prayed and 
prayed. I asked the Lord to please send someone to help us. 
One tear fell from my eye. I prayed until I fell asleep praying. 
This was the turning point of it all. It was Friday, September 
2, 2005. They woke everyone up. They told everyone to get their 
belongings ready because we were about to get rescued from 
the roof. So, we got our bags together. We walked up the stairs 
to the fourth floor. There, we had to climb up some iron bars 
in order to get on the roof. The men lifted us up to get on the 
higher part of the roof. It was real slippery up there. The middle 
part of the roof was flat. The sides were slanted. It was shaped 
like an upside down letter U. We were so happy. A red helicop-
ter came towards the roof. We had to hold on to this big pole-
like thing that was on the roof so we wouldn't fall off the roof 
due to the air pressure from the helicopter. A man with the U.S. 
Coast Guard hopped off the helicopter. I thought he was com-
ing to rescue some of us, but he didn't. He just brought some 
cases of water and some MREs. He left. A few minutes after 
94 
poe ·J: memoirstury 
that, a green military helicopter flew over us and landed right 
above the roof. A man dressed all in green took Gramps. The 
U.S. Coast Guard took Rhonda. I wanted the man dressed all in 
green to come back and get me because he was more bulky than 
the other man. Because I was so small, I wanted to be sure that I 
wouldn't fall off the roof. At last, he came back and rescued me. 
I could barely walk because the winds were so strong. It held 
me back, but I struggled to defeat it. I made it to the helicopter 
and we flew above the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. I was 
extremely relieved to be on that helicopter. 
They brought us to Louis Armstrong Airport in Kenner, 
Louisiana. As we got off the helicopter, people issued water and 
food items to us. We went inside of the airport. People were 
in wheelchairs, it was trashy, and it smelled like urine. Some 
people in charge told us that we could go upstairs to wait for 
a flight. We didn't go up just yet because we had to wait for 
my brother to arrive at the airport. As we waited for him to 
get there, I charged my cell phone in a plug that was near us. 
Fifteen minutes passed. I looked up and there he was, twisting 
his dreads on his head. We walked upstairs and saw thousands 
of people from the city. The line was so long. I thought it was 
going to be as easy as 1-2-3 to get a flight. I guess I thought 
wrong. We stood in the line for hours. The line moved very 
slowly. All I could think about was my boyfriend, Anthony. I 
was wondering if he was okay because I hadn't talked to him 
since the storm hit. I was praying to God to make sure he was 
alright. Thirty minutes had passed. I looked to the left. Guess 
who I saw? It was Anthony. I couldn't let him pass me by, so I 
called his name, "Anthony!" He looked back. I called him again. 
As I was calling him, I raised my hand and was on my tip toes 
so he would notice me. He came over. I was very happy to see 
him. That made me feel a lot better. He told me that he had 
been there since the night before. 
It was horrible in there. The line stopped moving. Gramps 
got tired and went and took a seat. Do-Right, Rhonda and I 
did also. Everyone in there was screaming and hollering. There 
were pets in there too. I went and charged my phone in a socket 
that I noticed on the floor. We sat in the airport observing the 
scenery for a long time. The people in charge gained everyone's 
attention and said they were going to start moving the line. 
Do-Right and I ran to the front of the line. Gramps and Rhonda 
came too. We finally reached the metal detector after about two 
95 
Henry 
hours had passed. I was tired, hungry, and ready to get out of 
Louisiana as soon as possible. We had to give some men our 
name and social security number. After that, we sat down and 
waited for the people to tell us to walk downstairs to board 
the plane. As we got outside, I walked real fast to the plane. 
Like I said before, I was tired, hungry, and ready to get out of 
Louisiana as soon as possible. We got on the plane. It had three 
seats on each row. I had to sit by two men that I didn't even 
know. Do-Right sat directly in front of me by two people he 
didn't know. Cramps and Rhonda sat behind me to the right. 
The plane took us to San Antonio, Texas. 
As we got off the plane, the San Antonio Police Department 
told everyone to sit their bags on the ground. They had to do a 
drug search. The K-9 went around everyone's bag and sniffed 
for drugs. After that, we had to board a bus. The bus took us 
to an army base/ shelter. When we arrived at the base, people 
were passing out fruit and water. I took an apple and a bottle 
of water. There was another huge line with many people wait-
ing to get in. When was this all going to be over? My legs were 
hurting, mosquitoes were biting, and I was extremely irritated. 
People were acting stupid and crazy, leaning and pushing on 
other people. After two hours passed, we finally got in. They 
said that we had to throw away all of the food we had so that 
it wouldn't cross contaminate the food that they had there. Our 
bags had to be searched. We went and talked to a lady to regis-
ter us. She gave us a wristband with a number on it and told us 
which section to go to when we arrived at the shelter. We had to 
board another bus. The bus took us to the Levi Strauss Shelter. 
Many cots were laid out on the floor. Do-Right and I found a 
spot in a corner. Cramps and Rhonda went into another sec-
tion of the shelter, not too far from us. We had nothing to do as 
we sat on the cots. I felt like I was in prison. One hour passed. 
I looked up. Guess who I saw? It was Anthony, again. I was so 
happy to see him a second time. He didn't see me but I saw 
him. A few minutes after that, they were telling people that they 
had food. We had to go and stand in line for it. As Do-Right 
and I stood in line, I saw Anthony. He came over and talked to 
me. We had a burger and fries, fruit, water, Gatorade, and chips. 
They said we could take however much we wanted. I went to 
sleep for about two hours that night. 
On Saturday, September 3, 2005, we stood in the shelter the 
whole day. I still couldn't believe what was happening. I went 
96 
poeinmemoirstory 
outside a couple of times to get a little fresh air. I talked on 
the phone to some kin to let them know that we were alright. 
In the shelter, they issued us blankets and pillows. I couldn't 
get any because they had run out. Later on that day, Anthony 
told me that he was leaving. They were going to a hotel. He 
told me he was going to call me that night. I said to myself, 
"Aw man, I'm not going to be able to see him again." Do-Right 
and I just chilled. We went and stood in line for some clothes 
and things that we needed. Do-Right got some shoes, socks, 
a shirt, deodorant, and soap. I got a shirt, a mini blanket, and 
some socks. We went back and sat on our cot. As we sat there, 
I looked up and saw Anthony. He had come back to chill with 
me. We walked to a nearby gas station. I got some chips for 
my brother and some candy for myself. Anthony chilled with 
me for a few, and then he left because it was getting dark. That 
night, we got a hepatitis shot. We had to get one because we 
walked through the floodwaters. That night, my friend, Jeniece 
called me and told me that I should go to Alabama where she 
was. I had doubts about it. But then I said that would be a 
means of getting out of the situation I was in. So, I made reser-
vations for a flight to Alabama from San Antonio. I told Gramps 
that I was leaving on Sunday and I gave her some important 
phone numbers. I knew deep down inside she didn't want 
me to leave but I had to continue with my life in school. I was 
already behind due to the fact that I had recently changed my 
major. Besides, I couldn't take it any longer in that shelter. I 
placed my phone on the charger that night and went to sleep. 
On Sunday, September 4, 2005, I awoke and called a cab. I 
washed myself off in the restroom, brushed my teeth, and put 
on some clothes. I had on some jean boy shorts, a green t-shirt, 
some silver flip flops, and an army hat. I felt like a true sol-
dier, having gone through all of the things that I been through 
throughout those six days. 
97 


English

Katrina and Why I Hate Her

Giewont, Gail

PoemMemoirStory (literary 
magazine) 
Volume 07 Article 4 
2007 
The Other Woman 
Gail Giewont 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms 
 Part of the Creative Writing Commons, and the English Language and Literature Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Giewont, Gail (2007) "The Other Woman," PoemMemoirStory (literary magazine): Vol. 07, Article 4. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms/vol07/iss2007/4 
This content has been accepted for inclusion by an authorized administrator of the UAB Digital Commons, and is 
provided as a free open access item. All inquiries regarding this item or the UAB Digital Commons should be 
directed to the UAB Libraries Office of Scholarly Communication. 
Gail Giewont 
THE OTHER w OMAN 
is so much like me 
that she is me. But 
she said no when I said 
nothing. I didrit know 
where my body would end up 
when the flood came in, 
but I wouldrit deny the water 
fingering my hinges open 
as its right. The other woman, 
that one with my face, stakes 
claim to the shoreline while the sea 
pulls me farther out. And she's sorry 
for me, the drowning no one 
can avoid now. She carit see 
how the light sinks, the softness 
as the air leaves me behind, and she'll 
spend her whole life wondering 
what it might have been like 
under here, in this rapture. 
2 


The Other Woman

Chernoff, Maxine

PoemMemoirStory (literary 
magazine) 
Volume 07 Article 8 
2007 
Permanence and Change 
Maxine Chernoff 
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 Part of the Creative Writing Commons, and the English Language and Literature Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Chernoff, Maxine (2007) "Permanence and Change," PoemMemoirStory (literary magazine): Vol. 07, 
Article 8. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms/vol07/iss2007/8 
This content has been accepted for inclusion by an authorized administrator of the UAB Digital Commons, and is 
provided as a free open access item. All inquiries regarding this item or the UAB Digital Commons should be 
directed to the UAB Libraries Office of Scholarly Communication. 
Maxine Chernoff 
PERMANENCE AND CHANGE 
The stars awaken a certain reverence. 
-Emerson 
on finding a world 
in attunement 
the false hero 
arrives/ knocks /to open 
the scene as given 
how one fact 
makes life bearable 
(given that beauty 
is triadic) 
and generativeness 
a talking cure 
re/ the roaring oflions 
whose lies are 
entreatments as if 
to say one cannot 
overlook the political 
fa<;ade of the text 
(as fiction is gossip) 
a paper specter 
like a limitless breach 
whose deep premonitions 
leave heaven to the angels 
while you, sweet story, 
hold me here 
8 


Permanence and Change

Harris, T Mozelle

PoemMemoirStory (literary 
magazine) 
Volume 07 Article 14 
2007 
Fire Replies 
T Mozelle Harris 
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 Part of the Creative Writing Commons, and the English Language and Literature Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Harris, T Mozelle (2007) "Fire Replies," PoemMemoirStory (literary magazine): Vol. 07, Article 14. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms/vol07/iss2007/14 
This content has been accepted for inclusion by an authorized administrator of the UAB Digital Commons, and is 
provided as a free open access item. All inquiries regarding this item or the UAB Digital Commons should be 
directed to the UAB Libraries Office of Scholarly Communication. 
T. Mozelle Harris 
FIRE REPLIES 
I do more 
than cast light. 
I melt iron-
draw blood 
from this red 
mountain. 
I am the hell 
that makes rust 
rise stones float 
so all that is impure 
can be skimmed 
away. I create 
the molten body 
that fattening pig 
iron suckling 
at the trough 
named "sow." 
Because of me 
every railroad 
spike is a man's 
knuckle every 
bridge is a man 
15 
stretched too far. 
Hear the clanging 
of hammer on anvil 
chanting: 
good 
it is 
good 
it is good. 


Fire Replies

Baker, Janet A

PoemMemoirStory (literary 
magazine) 
Volume 07 Article 17 
2007 
I Awake in Despair of Ever Loving Again 
Janet A. Baker 
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 Part of the Creative Writing Commons, and the English Language and Literature Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Baker, Janet A. (2007) "I Awake in Despair of Ever Loving Again," PoemMemoirStory (literary magazine): 
Vol. 07, Article 17. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms/vol07/iss2007/17 
This content has been accepted for inclusion by an authorized administrator of the UAB Digital Commons, and is 
provided as a free open access item. All inquiries regarding this item or the UAB Digital Commons should be 
directed to the UAB Libraries Office of Scholarly Communication. 
Janet A. Baker 
I AWAKE IN DESPAIR OF EVER LOVING AGAIN 
In my dreams I run to every edge I see and hang on it. 
I dangle by my hands from the side of the swimming pool. 
When I see an open garage door, 
I climb onto it and teeter on the brink. 
I scream for help over the driveway. 
I hurry to whatever edge I find and sway on it, 
reach for footholds as they disappear below me. 
If there's an open garage door I climb onto it 
like the Fool in tarot, the number zero 
where the journey starts. 
I think of gods suspended on edges. 
Odin hung upside down for nine days 
until all the thoughts drained from his head 
and he saw in the rocks below him the runes, 
spied the sharp old German words like edge 
and gave them to us. 
When all thoughts drain from my head 
I step gently onto the driveway 
find footholds all over the edges and ledges 
climb the ladder out of the pool. 


I Awake in Despair of Ever Loving Again

Welker, Holly

PoemMemoirStory (literary 
magazine) 
Volume 07 Article 32 
2007 
Step 
Holly Welker 
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 Part of the Creative Writing Commons, and the English Language and Literature Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Welker, Holly (2007) "Step," PoemMemoirStory (literary magazine): Vol. 07, Article 32. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms/vol07/iss2007/32 
This content has been accepted for inclusion by an authorized administrator of the UAB Digital Commons, and is 
provided as a free open access item. All inquiries regarding this item or the UAB Digital Commons should be 
directed to the UAB Libraries Office of Scholarly Communication. 
Holly Welker 
STEP 
A man said it: "So many women fear 
their bodies." One morning it became 
a beautiful thing, the way rainwater rolls 
off a shoulder blade. It is not a scar. 
She will step where she chooses from now on. 
As a girl her bedroom had violets 
on the wallpaper. There were violets 
outside. They were beautiful things. 
They were beautiful things but not 
as beautiful as the way rainwater 
rolls off a shoulder blade, even off her own. 
Nothing that is not a wound can scar. Most 
scars never show. From now on she steps where 
she chooses. She does all her legs allow. 
39 


Step

Harvey, Yona

PoemMemoirStory (literary 
magazine) 
Volume 08 Article 11 
2008 
Theory of the Unheld 
Yona Harvey 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms 
 Part of the Creative Writing Commons, and the English Language and Literature Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Harvey, Yona (2008) "Theory of the Unheld," PoemMemoirStory (literary magazine): Vol. 08, Article 11. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms/vol08/iss2008/11 
This content has been accepted for inclusion by an authorized administrator of the UAB Digital Commons, and is 
provided as a free open access item. All inquiries regarding this item or the UAB Digital Commons should be 
directed to the UAB Libraries Office of Scholarly Communication. 
YonaHarvey 
THEORY OF THE UNHELD 
You break 
can yourself 
before break 
they you 
broken dusk 
against 
without or . Change 
glances regret 
what couldn't : 
you 
dust nickels minted 
beneath newly 
all 
you do 
must is 
swipe 
your hands 
Orso 
acknowledged of Certain Beliefs 
at the Podium 
fists 
some pound 
some shatter 
palms 
is face that makes 
Why your the face the others 
falter? 
were 
They expecting 
34 
someone else 
more 
someone 
more more 
talkative serious 
serene perhaps 
someone 
more someone 
needy not 
broken 
they 
before break 
you 
35 


Theory of the Unheld

Gibney, Shannon

PoemMemoirStory (literary 
magazine) 
Volume 08 Article 29 
2008 
Note on a Number 
Shannon Gibney 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms 
 Part of the Creative Writing Commons, and the English Language and Literature Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Gibney, Shannon (2008) "Note on a Number," PoemMemoirStory (literary magazine): Vol. 08, Article 29. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms/vol08/iss2008/29 
This content has been accepted for inclusion by an authorized administrator of the UAB Digital Commons, and is 
provided as a free open access item. All inquiries regarding this item or the UAB Digital Commons should be 
directed to the UAB Libraries Office of Scholarly Communication. 
Shannon Gibney 
NOTE ON A NUMBER 
I have forgotten you how many times? 
I know the nature of numbers. 
Subtraction is multiplying in the modern era. 
28 
Cucumbers pickling (tasty!). 
My palette changed. I knew, suddenly, that I never loved him. 
Three days before the end of the month. 
Five days past my period. 
I can almost see my hairline in 23 years. 
It does not scare me. 
Those bombs they drop on Iraq are so blurry no one can count them. 
The children have recess three times a day. 
iq measured on a napkin. 
180; 181; 199; 100,000 
dead. Genius! 
If you haven't made your mark yet, you never will. 
4841 7653 7700 8832 
The quadratic equation for love. 
I pulled the new stockings up my "cottage cheese" thighs. 
Sheek, sheer, tweek, twirl. 
Unsuitable men ask for my number on the same day (three). 
Love, dahling. .. 
I decided to abandon the parenthetical remark. 
I decided to try size 10. 
63 
He was too old for me, we saw. 
He was too 25 for me, he reluctantly admitted. 
She was too she for me. 
28 was a better fit. 
64 
Plus 99,972 deceased. 


Note on a Number

Betts, Tara

PoemMemoirStory (literary 
magazine) 
Volume 08 Article 38 
2008 
Erasure 
Tara Betts 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms 
 Part of the Creative Writing Commons, and the English Language and Literature Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Betts, Tara (2008) "Erasure," PoemMemoirStory (literary magazine): Vol. 08, Article 38. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms/vol08/iss2008/38 
This content has been accepted for inclusion by an authorized administrator of the UAB Digital Commons, and is 
provided as a free open access item. All inquiries regarding this item or the UAB Digital Commons should be 
directed to the UAB Libraries Office of Scholarly Communication. 
Tara Betts 
ERASURE 
Every face slowly dropping out of the world 
like they never had breath, laughter or tears. 
Chunks of history scooped out of the book of life, 
burned for kindling, tossed into landfills 
buried in chips from obsolete computers. 
Too many bodies have been drawn 
into centrifugal black holes, never to be seen 
before they come clearly into view. 
There must be some weathervane willing 
to announce a shift in the wind. 
There must be a gust of hands willing to turn 
the rooster's iron head away from absence. 
History is pulled from my mouth 
slow as a string of pearls, one bead at a time. 
I stock the shelves with more substance than 
porcelain figurines. I am raising my fists, 
bareknuckled, tangling with omission. 
Or it is an embrace caught again and again 
between my fingers . 
77 


Erasure

Griffiths, Rachel Eliza

PoemMemoirStory (literary 
magazine) 
Volume 08 Article 40 
2008 
Grief Requiem 
Rachel Eliza Griffiths 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms 
 Part of the Creative Writing Commons, and the English Language and Literature Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Griffiths, Rachel Eliza (2008) "Grief Requiem," PoemMemoirStory (literary magazine): Vol. 08, Article 40. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.library.uab.edu/pms/vol08/iss2008/40 
This content has been accepted for inclusion by an authorized administrator of the UAB Digital Commons, and is 
provided as a free open access item. All inquiries regarding this item or the UAB Digital Commons should be 
directed to the UAB Libraries Office of Scholarly Communication. 
Rachel Eliza Griffiths 
GRIEF REQUIEM 
Do not name your grief 
for this burning village 
of lights where the eyes of 
girls are ruined by darkness. 
The lanterns of foreigners have 
burned the roofs of girlhood 
into brass and straw idols. These 
daughters who wear your aches 
like dresses. They become old 
exiles whose dreams live 
in smoke despite the bright prisons 
where the wildfire of terrorism 
spreads like a mirage. This mouth of grief 
searches prayers the way your eyes do, 
through the rubble of memory 
where unborn babies scream 
for light. Do not ask what 
the soldiers did. Do not ask 
the mirrors for the after-
birth. There was a girl 
whose womb opened and dropped 
like an almond from her mother. 
Soldiers, armed as midwives 
with sheets and orders, searched 
beneath the coverlets of smoke 
for breasts. Calabashes of milk tinged 
with ash and sugar. Name your grief 
for the memory of your ancestors. 
From a distant throat where 
words roll and flail like immolated mothers, 
call their despair by your own name. 
82 
See if you can wash their blood 
from your government 
uniforms. The anonymity you wear 
to hide your own bodies 
from this language of progeny. 
83 


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