ABSTRACT
Judith Morgan and a friend command the space of Morgan’s demolished home, its raised foundation a haunting platform for their gestural and verbal descriptions of its former state. Now the debris has been removed, the premises cleaned and painted, and a small camping tent pitched in what was once the interior space of the home. The women, at fi rst in front of the structure and then within its footprint, trace with physical movements the rooms and features that were washed away when the levees breached in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. “Duck your head,” reminds her friend, with conscious irony, as Morgan mounts the three short stepsto-nowhere-all that remains of a staircase that once led to a second story supported by a low beam.
