In the spirit of I, Claudius, the empress arrives with a case of bad-breeze.
I, Katrina, queenly robed,
with bosomed bounty, lightning tressed,
have rode the waves, and come well dressed
to hail my subjects, come to shore
with surging breath.
I, Katrina, now bestow
new life to ancient swamps, where reeds
have thirsted, long penned up, I’ve freed
the river’s course. With gales, I greet
the wails now heard from lake and land.
I grant them both a second chance
To upstart structures, as I pass,
my screaming eye gives but a glance.
They're new, ill-mannered, flimsy glass,
split wood or hard baked clay. I
order them to bow, obey
Empress of the Wind and Waves.
Behold! My swirl of robes are flung.
My scraping thrusts of tongue flick far.
From old bayous to Florida,
all hear my roar: the crack of oak,
the wrench of roof, the crash of glass,
a dog's last woof.
I, Katrina, empress bold
of sea-wind, waves, and water's surge
have brought a cleansing, once foretold,
yet now must leave for arctic cold,
still lightning tressed and queenly robed,
© Kåre Enga 2005
Catalogue number: [162.367]
6 september 2005
Note: Dedicated to the Crisis Coördinator at Kansas University: Kathleen McClusky-Fawcett.