It was a house that became a victim to Katrina\'s brutality. This house, once nestled seamlessly in a cozy lakefront community, now stands out like a dog lying dead on the side of the highway. Its insides turned out, organs displaced, and all signs of life rotted out. After three years, this house waits eagerly for its proper burial, but no signs of that anytime soon. The carcass my soon be completely digested by the ever growing foliage and grass that reaches the roof. The house now hosts homeless squatters that scurry like cockroaches when the police shine their flashlights with suspicion. But the part that makes me saddest when passing this house is the orphan piano, with peeling skin and cracked wood, that rests on the front porch, smiling like a toothless old man, untouched and unsung. To me, this house fully represents the wake of Katrina, abandonment, displacement, neglect, waiting, silence.