Gypsy Via Orleans,
the name is not as explanatory as it seems.
Without known blood ties to those of old,
I still feel just as nomadic.
My people too
have been stereotyped by ones whose tales aren't sporadic.
I'm not a wealthy woman, I live on average means.
I was truly quite content in the city of New Orleans.
A hurricane named Katrina uprooted me from this home.
Thus began my journey which makes body and spirit roam.
I spent a night on open highway,
third in my family's caravan of six cars.
My emotions were in an uproar, against each other raging war.
The next day at a truck stop so exhausted I thought I'd drop,
I was asked by a Natchez deputy if I needed a place to stay.
He then took me to his church where for months my head would lay.
When my city was deemed safe again, I was eager to return.
Without friends and neighbors, the loneliness made me yearn
for a semblance of lost happiness sans another fear-filled night.
So from my home once more I knew I'd soon take flight.
Back I ran to Mississippi's dirt roads and rich red clay.
I've tried to plant my dying roots in hopes of here I'll stay.
Still I feel this daily itch beneath my feet.
It tells my new found Gypsy blood, staying put is obsolete.
A voice keeps whispering to this Gypsy Via Orleans.
"Go home my child and stop your soul's loud screams."
Adding your comment:
Your words and their meaning really struck a chord with me. I can relate. Who among us cannot understand the feelings of and about our "home" - it's part of being human, I think. May your roots be found, nurtured, grow long, and live happy!! Thank you for sharing your story. I believe this awesome poem is very worthy - I would have given it the golden chalice myself. 
It's all so poetically profound, but I think my favorite two lines are:
