New Orleans 
A. fleury

I want to go to New Orleans
To walk the tombs, caressing
Fingers along the weathered stone
To stroll the French quarter
Drink sweet wines and consume
Spicy foods, cakes with babies hidden inside,
Hang beads by the neck, watch
The people dance and sing
And rest my head upon an adoring
Shoulder
I want to go there, to run, to fly
Because it's a place that feels
Free and wild and I so want to be
Free and wild. 

I have no adoring shoulder to rest on, no means to run, to fly. 
I have no means to approach this city that seems to embody everything I want. 
I yearn. 
Fingers can only scrape
Over dry photos and watch bright footage on TVs.
Inside me something curls and hides, racked with the pain 
Knowledge that it can never be wild and free.
Never will run the streets
of New Orleans.