Poetry
Pages of Heather
Free verse with love for my friend Heather Graham, a lady who knows what it means to miss her Muse.
Her footfalls echo stories splashed with time through cobblestone in a novel second line embracing the Monteleone where she corners character from haunts of the Quarter, to host her Writers for New Orleans.
The Slush Pile resounds with the joy of a City in the volume of dance to quiet all want.
Po-boys, gumbo, etouffee, and remoulade. Authors, friends, and family.
The whisper of a granddaughter. Beauty of a child grown to charm. Coolest man in the room. An embrace from the Connie.
Rues like Chartres phase to epilogue a serenade of brocade, panels, skirts haunting tiles squared white and blue from Pirate’s Alley to the Royal arts with the farewells blown to magnolia.
The desk of her lap wields such chapters of blonde bold and composed to forge a levee with words nurturing libraries, Marigny, minds, and Wards lost to breech reborn through the pages of Heather.
Bestselling Author Graham hosts an annual writers convention called Writers for New Orleans. Proceeds are donated to the city, still recovering from Katrina. Still.
Heather is beloved worldwide for her kindness, her generosity of spirit, and the depth and beauty of her soul.