'Topographies'

<p>Marshy spillover is first to flood:&nbsp; where water<br /> first met sand and pilings lost all anchor.</p><separator></separator><p>Where nothing rose above the surge, that wall
<br />of black, black water. Where houses buckled, crumbled.</p><separator></separator><p>Where the storm's uneven scrawl erased.
<br />While miles away I watched a map of TV weather,</p><separator></separator><p>the eyewall spinning closer. A coil of white, an X-ray.<br /> I imagined my parents' house swept to its stone slab.</p><separator></separator><p>While I remembered sixth grade science, how we traced the city<br /> like a body,&nbsp; arterials draining in the wrong direction.</p><separator></separator><p>We shaded blue the channel called MR GO that pours
<br />from the River to the Gulf, trench the storm water swallowed.</p><separator></separator><p>The levees overfilled, broke open. And I came home to see
<br />the city grieving.&nbsp;&nbsp; The city drained then hacked apart.</p>