Crow Joan

She rides over the broken-down levees.
She rides a black horse and carries a banner
plumed with black crow feathers.
She carries a red sword.
She rides down the street
still clogged with wreckage two years on.
She rides over the flood debris.
She comes on the wings of the storm.
She comes on the wings of a crow.

Crow Joan! Crow Joan!

I am the Maid of New Orleans
I am all the maids of New Orleans
the cooks, the housekeepers, the nannies
I am the women who were the soul of this city
I am the women who were left to drown
left to starve
I am the women who were turned back at the bridge
I am the women who climbed on the rooftoops
I am the women on the bus to Houston
I am the women in the refugee trailer parks
I am Crow Joan—
or you might call me Joan Crow.

Crow Joan! Crow Joan!

Crow Joan is coming.
Crow Joan is coming to put her house in order.
Crow Joan is riding her black horse through the dead neighborhoods.
Crow Joan is flying over the stricken city.
Crow Joan is coming home.

Image source credits:

Seton Hall University Library





Marcus G. Martin's Bird Photos





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