New Orleans, My Old Friend

New Orleans,
I long to come back to you
when your back is no longer strapped
with tattered blue tarps.

New Orleans,
I long to walk with you
when your feet are no longer muddied
by all that is left
when flood waters recede.

New Orleans,
I long to see my old friend,
not faded X's
telling: found, dead, and rescued
painted upon broken homes.

New Orleans,
as long as I struggle
with memories of devastation
and wait for the next storm,
your beauty is truly masked.