Maeve - Heat

I sit in my car and my thighs are slowly cooked

by the smoldering black leather

which has stood the persistence

of the sun for almost eight hours.

The sun heatedly argues its point only to be

interrupted by the distressing presence of the clouds which

start to cry…

                the devil must be beating his wife

                                my mother says.

Persephone tried to escape the heat,

                Escape the beating she was sure to get,

                                Cursing the seeds that she ate naively,

I can hear the skin cells of my thighs protest the moment

they hit the seat.

Maeve, age 17

Maeve - Rhythm

New Orleans

is a hum

that permeates

the bodies of

             bugs

                       dogs

                                  people.

The sound of a tuning fork in their ear

creates a vibration that shakes bones out of their sockets

and electrons from their orbit.

The water in the ground, not two feet from our feet

ripples with the sound and movement of the city.

E very person moving

Every person singing

Every person laughing

are only drops in the pool,

but together we make a wave.

Our influence splashing into the minds of others – It’s infectious.

So, watch out

or you’ll be pulled out to sea.

Maeve, age 17

Maeve - Mardi Gras

There is a creature.
Its name is seldom used
and is only whispered in the darkest of alley ways.
This small group
is fabled to live among us,
in New Orleans…

But once a year,
They get the hell out of Dodge
and cannot be sighted for at least a week.
Many believe that they migrate,
so that they can feed.

These creatures that I am talking about
are
PEOPLE FROM NEW ORLEANS WHO HATE MARDI GRAS!

*gasp*

It is said that they are adept at navigating the alpine slopes of Vail, Colorado,
and that many of them visit the “wonderful world of Mickey” acquiring strange hats that may be a
symbol to other like minded creatures that they are indeed, one of them.

This formidable beast is a danger to our life and our liberty here in New Orleans.
Now I hope you join me in the fight to raise awareness,
and that this infectious state of mind be squashed before it spreads.

Aid me in this fight.
Vive le Carnaval!

Maeve, age 17

Maeve - NOLA Myths

I. AM. A. BEAST.

I eat three dozen beignets

EVERY day.

I eat a hot sausage po-boy for lunch

and drown it with a cup of café au lait,

then scarf down two dozen oysters

to feed my ferocious appetite.

Wait,

no that’s a lie.

I had a yogurt and some goldfish.

Though I may not have eaten a beignet in three months,

I am still from NOLA.

Maeve, age 17

Maeve - Winter in NOLA

Christmas in New Orleans means…

Mr. Bingle, City Park, and

a fake ice skating rink that smells like buttered rum.

We try to be like the cities up north

with their real snow and fuzzy woodland creatures.

Well,

I have a nutria in my backyard.

And I’m pretty sure that a possum is eating my cat’s food.

Does that count?

So I guess that Christmas also means…

Rabies?

Maeve, age 17

Maeve - There's a Feeling in the Air...

There’s a feeling in the air.
You know what it is.
It’s there: thick, soupy, mess.
They make me blush,
make your eye twitch, and
make both of us feel
                    uncomfortable.









There it is again.
That space, the place
where time seems longer
and words shorter.
Prolonged and interminable -
Not the light, fluffy space between words,
cushioning them,
making sure they don’t collide.

Hot, sticky, mess.

We are

                    Um
      Awkward
Maybe?

Maeve, age 17

Maeve - I Will Defend

I will defend
the life that I have made for myself,
the walls that I have built,
and the food that I have brought for my brothers and sisters.
I have put too much work into my home for someone to take it away from me.

The rage that I feel is more rational than most would think,
but many think that I am
a killer,
a monster,
a pest.
And rightly so because
you have just stumbled upon our nest, and
have put our patience to the test.

KILLER BEES UNITE!

Maeve, age 16

Maeve - Anticipation

I wait,
and hope that the tiny munching
of the bugs in my walls have stopped.
Standing stock still and hearing the
CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH
of tiny demolition crews eating away at the structural integrity of my house.
But now,
I hold in my hands the poison
that will cause a vast exodus, expelling
thousands of those unwanted,
disgusting creatures from within a block radius.
My skin tingles with anticipation.
My finger is on the trigger, ready
for the mass genocide that is about to take place.
Those termites won’t know what hit them.

Maeve, age 16