A Southern wedding: part 2

There’s an island lore, warning to never trust a word you hear

once you cross the Bentara river

beyond which,

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.


Image –


A Southern wedding: part 1

Everything is ready for the wedding.

The papers, the witnesses, the drums, the walls whitewashed numb…

Check on her one last time?

She is supreme,

the sand is rich and a yellow heat is lingering lazy above the skin

Not a cloud in the sweet salt South.

It’s time.


Hush, the guests are coming.

They can’t believe their eyes.

Who made such beauty, just to shine on some forgotten beings?

What a face,

coconut palm lashes rise and fall sleepy, making them giddy.


They take her picture.

They couldn’t bear the thought of her face being forgotten.


They all want to marry her;

one said he will marry her arms,

the other her breasts,

a rich man her cunt,

another her hair…

a piece of her for everyone.

She is exquisite in red.


We gave her away

piece by piece. Bless her, she remained sweet.


As they drove her away, we heard the drums beat

against black brewing in the far cry.

We all looked towards the ocean, fearing if it knows

that the beauty of the South was married away.