What's left is footage:
the hours before Camille,
palm trees leaning in the wind,
fronds blown back, a woman's hair.
Then after: the vacant lots,
boats washed ashore,
a swamp where graves had been.
I recall how we huddled
all night in our small house,
moving between rooms,
emptying pots filled with rain.
The next day, our house
on its cinderblocks—seemed
to float in the flooded yard:
no foundation beneath us,
nothing I could see tying
us to the land. In the water,
our reflection trembled,
disappeared when I bent
to touch it.
Natasha Trethewey's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Providence by Natasha Trethewey )
- Antidepressants, Nalini Jyotsana Chaturvedi
- Eve of Destruction (2014), Anthony Di'anno
- ! Struck by the Oner, Alice Vedral Rivera
- Haiku 12, Suresh Dogra
- A Shoulder To Cry On, Joe Rosochacki
- The moment you, gajanan mishra
- Qoute # 6, Is It Poetry
- Animal Factory, Dasia Deas
- I am happy, hasmukh amathalal
- A curse and legend story., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
Poem of the Day
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(17 July 1674 – 25 November 1748)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Edgar Lee Masters
(23 August 1868 – 5 March 1950)
George Gordon Byron
(22 January 1788 – 19 April 1824)
(1886 - 1967)