Esoteric Bowl

There was this girl that I knew from school. Well, I didn’t really know her, but I knew her name and I knew that her house was close to mine. Even though we shared class together, I didn’t pay much attention to her. She was very much the loner, and there were whispers of Family Services talking to teachers about abuse at home. Some families are better than others at concealing secrets.

One day while walking home, I saw her sitting on the steps of her front porch. She was wearing cutoff jeans and a t-shirt, with one bare foot resting atop the other. I gave her a casual smile and a wave hello, but she just twirled her fingers in her long hair and stared unmoving as I walked by. Her stereo inside the house was blasting some song that I never heard before. The voice in the song was angelic, and there was something about the wave in the tone and meter of the song that gave me a chill. I stopped and asked her who was singing and what song it was. She smiled a smile that I had never seen before, and told me that it was Joni Mitchell singing Tin Angel.

She replayed the song for me, and we sat and listened and shared smiles. I didn’t know of Joni Mitchell, but she did. She had all of Joni Mitchell’s albums, and she excitedly shared her favorite song Blue for me. I think she liked the idea of turning me on to something that she enjoyed and that was all new to me.

A friendship grew from that day. She later introduced me to Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Joan Baez and others; names that were vaguely familiar to me, but whose music remained undiscovered. She also introduced me to Yeats and Sylvia Plath, and she shared her own poetry while planting the seeds for my own attempts at verse.

She opened a whole world to me that I didn’t know existed. I remember looking at her one day while she was reading a poem aloud, wondering how it was possible that a twelve year old girl the same age as me could know so much. She was like an earth mother with a wise old soul living within her little girl’s body.

Her parents divorced that same year and soon she moved away. We lost touch after that, but five years later I heard from a friend of a friend that she had taken her own life.

Blue (Joni Mitchell)

Blue, songs are like tattoos
You know I’ve been to sea before
Crown and anchor me
Or let me sail away
Hey Blue, there is a song for you
Ink on a pin
Underneath the skin
An empty space to fill in
Well there’s so many sinking now
You’ve got to keep thinking
You can make it through these waves
Acid, booze, and ass
Needles, guns, and grass
Lots of laughs, lots of laughs
Everybody’s saying that hell’s the hippest way to go
Well I don’t think so
But I’m gonna take a look around it though
Blue, I love you

Blue, here is a shell for you
Inside you’ll hear a sigh
A foggy lullaby
There is your song from me.

Tragedy. Catastrophe. Devastation. Heartbreaking. These were just some of the descriptions used on Monday following the havoc of Hurricane Katrina on the Gulf Coast. Almost four days later the most apt description of the situation can be found in a single word; criminal.

It is criminal how citizens of Louisiana and Mississippi have in large measure been left to fend for themselves following what has been described as the worst natural disaster in our nation’s history. It is criminal how state and federal governments have allowed people to go without food, water, medical aid, adequate shelter, and security.

It is criminal that elderly have died from the lack of medical care, babies have died from dehydration, untold numbers have died from starvation, young women have been raped, individuals murdered; all while hopelessly waiting for the help that was promised but never came for one, two, three days and counting.

It is criminal that the National Guard troops that were promised were not in force from day one, leaving law-abiding citizens to fend for themselves for days against gun-toting thugs and gangs. It is criminal that some police officers in New Orleans literally walked off the job.

It is criminal that as we approach the forth anniversary of 9/11, authorities are once again saying that problems with communications have hindered the lifesaving mission.

It is criminal that despite knowing the possible damage a level 4 hurricane could bring, officials from FEMA, Homeland Security, and the White House are saying no one could have imagined the destruction. It is criminal that as the 9/11 Commission determined, the federal government continues to lack an imagination.

It is criminal that the same congress who saw it fit to call an emergency session on a Sunday night to save Terri Schiavo, didn’t deem it necessary to return from their vacations until three days following the storm.

It is criminal that as governments from around the world offer their help and assistance to the White House, none of these offers have yet to be accepted.

It is criminal that the White House leadership is so glaringly lacking with no sense of urgency for the situation. It is criminal that President Bush has yet to visit the Gulf States, and his half-hearted speech to the nation sounded as if he had not yet mentally returned from his five week vacation. It is criminal that Vice President Cheney remains on vacation in Wyoming.

It is criminal that every American citizen must now come to the cold and sobering realization that if they fall victim to disaster the government may not be there to answer their calls for help.