What I Talk About When I Don't Want to Talk About Katrina

Having a cat, used to talking
to myself, there is a limit
on how much catastrophe
we can handle. 34 left
at the nursing home to die
fell on the bad side.
Since when are we satisfied
with a slow gouge without
resolution and revelation
of the emotion at play?
There was a time when she
cranked up the category, as if
to say, Hey this is what a body
looks like turned inside out!
(I am talking to myself again)
I reconcile that slush-thrower
peeling back the city’s onion-
strata with no space for grave-
yards to stack bodies in layers.
I’ve made sandwiches before,
all the while talking to my cat,
waiting for its backtalk.