Prayer for Katrina
Eris, bizarre lady of chaos & confusion:

Your daughter Katrina, born of the primal ocean rage, has ravaged the countryside and ripped asunder the complacency of the nation--and killed thousands, bought misery and pain to people whose only hope was to endure.

Eris, I beg of you...
Don't let all that pain be wasted.

Don't let it go back to "business as usual."

Don't let Greyface sweep this aside; don't let wealthy politicians who have never known want or fear or despair be unaffected by this as they've been unaffected by the decisions they make that afflict the poor, the elderly, the minorities, the marginalized people—PEOPLE—who haven't the resources or the strength of Will to escape the consequences of hundreds of years of poverty and oppression.

Let them be hurt, Eris.
Let the layers of protection they've built up be eroded; let strangers with guns tell them they must abandon everything they hold dear to save their very lives. Let their families be torn apart; let them be hungry, cold and frightened; let them rely on the kindness of random strangers for barest survival.

Let them know the life they have struggled to achieve can be irrevocably destroyed, ripped apart by the forces of nature and carelessness of their fellow man.

Eris, bring them consequence.

And, if need be, let us be your tools. If you cannot reach them directly, if your hand is blocked by wealth and the trappings of power, strike at them through us.

Keep us mad and scared, and let our rage and panic be focused on the men who did not cause this and so refused to prevent or alleviate it. Don't let this fade. Let us remember, and help us remind them.

Keep us angry. Keep us frightened. Keep us confused. Keep us alert, with the preternatural awareness shared by extreme athletes and beaten children, those who know that the slightest change of surroundings or circumstance could be their death.

Keep that awareness focused on those we have trusted to guard and guide us. Let us hold them accountable... every dollar that went to landscaping instead of levy-building, every bus that drove away less than full, every waterlogged body that washes ashore instead of being saved by helicopters.

Let the terrified faces of the dead haunt their dreams, and the outrage of the living haunt their public appearances. Let them flinch from our eyes the way they did not flinch from the tragedies. Let them feel hounded and hunted until they are ready to lash out at mild questions; let them be find cold shoulders and ridicule when they try to justify their callousness.

If they will not fear for our future, let them fear for their own. If they will not weep in anguish for the dead, let them weep in frustration at the living.

Let the growing panic that we feel spill over to them, and let them know what it is to live in terror and pain.

Amen. So mote it be. So it goes.