As human suffering floods New Orleans
one face speaks on the evening news.
Elderly, black, no family, she lay
for eight days on her mattress

floating in fetid brown water,
scanning her drifting possessions,
guessing at what would endure,
what would not.

Painted bureau, pink floral dishes,
red satin-lined jewel box that made her
think of Linda Sue from the shopper's
channel, and led her to imagine calling:

This is Melba from Looziana. Yes, I survived
just fine. The Diamoniques-all those sparkles-
washed away. Won't it be a lucky day
for the gal who finds them?

Melba thinks of her favorite TV lovers,
cheaters, heiresses, victims, villains,
her only daily companions-
missing.

When asked what saved her life, she said,
There must have been a lot of wood
in that mattress: it floated just like Noah's ark.
Melba said she wasn't afraid even once.

Picture cattle and chickens floating
down the streets, and wonder of what fabric
did God fashion Melba? What diamond
glisten kept her alive and believing?

Envision the oil lamp in the ancient temple
burning for eight days with only enough oil
for one, and suddenly know-
Melba lit that lamp with the glint of her eye.

See Noah cramped inside the ark with the zebras,
hippos, skunks, floating forty days and forty nights.
Spot the dove returning, announcing dry land,
holding Melba's faith fresh in its mouth.

By Doris Ferleger