mississippi

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sheila sea

somewhere in the space

between Georgia and Louisiana

the Mississippi cut into us.

we’d been blaring Muddy Waters

and i understood each of his croons

as if they were my own.

the backseat was stacked with books,

a lantern,

and wool lined coats

in case it got cold.

I wondered about the river

and the tides it had known.

it wasn’t beautiful,

not the way the ocean was

back home-

but mud is strangely comforting.

and I think that’s the ruse,

you know..

the swamp is tangible,

moist earth

and it lends itself to be trusted

as if it had always been yours.

• sc

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