There’s an island lore, warning to never trust a word you hear
once you cross the Bentara river
the South begins
where witches were born and men cut up by beauty would go to live.
The strangers who flew in on a storm
took the Southern beauty home – their new bride delightful like a vulgar schoolboy song.
But, they don’t know
the reason she smiles more than she talks, or the men buried in her tomb.
Do they know that she only ever loved the ocean?
-the salt that ravages her
and leaves her with enough tears for another hundred years.
It’s one of those unhealthy addictions.
There she goes.
She made a beautiful bride for the seventeen thousandth time.
The radio said
there are more strangers
coming to see her from all over the world;
they can’t wait to get cut open.
Shining her gold, she’s ready to take them all.
The beauty of the South is sad no more.