1717 Picayune St.

Plunged. Into a nightmare
Anxious, tired, hungry we arrived.
It looked like nothing.

Where a proud house once reigned over water oaks
And stood down mausoleums of Confederate dead

A single tree remained.

A towering water oak, with limbs beckoning for nightfall,
Receiving only an august haze, choking fall from its leaves.
Roots that swim through la terre noire like ducks on the pond

In the back, it was my tree.
I played on it during those monotonous summers.
Anything to get out of that proud house.
So proud it had no air conditioning,
So proud it had no TV.
Anything to stay away from that graveyard
That ate footballs and came alive with “Dixie” at night fall.

It used to have a swing.
But now it just has a rope.
Tangled,
Knotted,
Broken.
A lot like our family,
A lot like our city,
A lot like our home.

---

Billy Creed, age 18
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
LSU Lab School
Teacher: Candence Robillard