Blues for the South
In Savannah the boys were all light and whiskey
he was as sure as beard lichen hung on every tree
as frightening as the gallows in the square
I was midnight books, great fire
and the saddest photograph of magic
I believed in hoodoo
its magic spells and all the
things that cannot die
we read potion books
drank willow bark tea
burned roots of plants
whose name we said out loud
we gathered innocence from nests
or waited for it to fall
every laceration was a kiss
every fever, salvation
**
Letter from Mississippi
Brother, I have learned that the human body has a shade of blue that resembles mother’s hydrangeas. When floating on a door, depending where the sun is positioned, even the naked look gracious. They tell us any day the rain will stop. I have never been so thirsty while surrounded by this much water. They tell us decay is quicker than expected. Please tell everyone back home that I am fine. Tell them not to worry. I am quickly learning the structure of churches and desire.
PS: save me, save me, save me
