Hello From Nola
"Hello from Nola" was written during Mardi Gras 2010,
as a result of the poet's participation in an invitational reception
at the Little Theater and a march with the order of St. Cecila
on Fat Tuesday in a controversial costume.
HELLO FROM NOLA
1
I dress up for Mardi-gras
in a costume provided
by my hostess
described
on the package
as
Jesus, "one size
fits all."
containing
a long white gown
a red sash
a wild wig of auburn curls
down to my shoulders
and a beard
I can’t secure
to my ears which
are too small
must finally pin to
my “soft” crown
of thorns
When I appear
my hostess
says
"You look more
like a rabbi."
I point out that many
called him this
which is what he
probably was.
Another in our group
observes:
"He looks more
like Moses."
On our way through
the French Quarter
to a party
in Jackson Square
at La Petit Theatre
(oldest community
theater in the U.S.)
celebrants ask
for my blessing
attempt to kiss
the hem of my
skirt.
I confess relief
when a beefy guy
in a New Orleans Saints
football jersey jumps
in front of me
screaming:
"Hail, Bacchus!"
obviously mistaking
my crown of thorns
for grape leaves.
2
FAT TUESDAY
We start out early
to march with the insurgent
order of St. Cecilia
patron saint of musicians
who sang to God
as she was crucified
and beheaded
three times
recently split
from the trendy
order of St. Ann
mother of the Virgin
and patron
of miners
gather in the Marigney
meet the band
and revelers who
want to know
if I am
Moses or
Jesus?
I tell them
that my costume
designed in Brooklyn
by a rabbi includes
the robe
and sash of
the Galilean
but the wild hair and beard
of one whose been
to the mountain
but comes
today without tablets
or parables
simply to dance
in the second line
behind
the trombone
Sor Juana
wearing her escudo
on my left
a fox
in a white tux
on my right
we stop for drinks
at Feelings
a bar on Franklin
where a Pig with Wings
corners me
to ask,
“Who dat?”
I reply
that I’m her Savior
recently “off the rack”
then move on to the tune
of “Little Liza James”
until I cross Elysian Fields
and come face
to face with another
dancing Jesus
we embrace
bless each
other
then pause
to use the porto-potties
on Esplanade before
parading through the Quarter
down Royal St. to confront
evangelicals
in Jackson Square
protesting this pagan rite
confusion reigns
as they stare at me in a way
I recognize as
Jesus or
Moses?
another
band comes up behind us
I can’t decide if
I’m dancing first or second line
to which the fox-in-a-tux
responds,
“Both.”
summing up
all there is to say about
dancing between
two bands
we stream
toward Canal St
the Promised Land
for one so robed and bearded
in the spirit of St. Cecilia
singing
“When the Saints
Come Marching In”
until a diva
in gold lame
sneezes
and I stop
to say, God bless you.
but it comes out
Gezunt-heit!
3
THE AFTERMATH
a party awash in rice and beans
Popeye’s fried chicken
and biscuits
chorizos and King Cake
with the baby
still in it
served by Sor Juana
still in her escudo
I enter in jeans and a t-shirt
no longer recognizable
to those who sit
around a large table
until my hostess
introduces me
as the man who was Jesus
at which there are random
nods of recognition
I’m asked
from time to time
to perform an intervention
as when the dog
leaps up to a low lying
bowl and devours
the sausage
or a reveler
spills her rum and coke
on the sofa but nothing
approaching a miracle
though I tell them
I can turn wine
into urine
a Mad Hatter
challenges me
to make it through the airport
dressed as Our Savior
says it would be a spectacle
to watch them scan my robes
divest me of my hair and beard
conduct a cavity search
a veritable security
Golgatha
a new wrinkle
on the Grand Inquisitor
I appear before a southern judge
who finds me guilty of
in-sighting to riot
disrupting the status quo
a warning to Terrorist
a Republican trope
you can never
be too careful when
the Prince of Peace
might be just another
apocalyptic
intruder
who just last week
danced without incident
in the second line
all the way to
Canal St.
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