In the spirit of I, Claudius, the empress arrives with a case of bad-breeze. |
I, Katrina 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 for Freedom. 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 Me, Katrina, 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, though tattered. © Kåre Enga 2005 Catalogue number: [162.367] 6 september 2005 Note: Dedicated to the Crisis Coördinator at Kansas University: Kathleen McClusky-Fawcett. |