Sheila’s the bomb! Check out her blog for more amazing poetry.
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
What an honor! Thank you. :)))
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