In Southern Comfort she flows along,
her swirling current of water
a stream of muddy river songs
rising
ebbing
flowing
throughout history and
a graveyard of industry.
Back then,
when Huckleberry Finns
went wading in with bamboo poles
and steam queens paddled by
in antebellum style,
the wooden wheel marking time each
turn
turn
turn
preserving a place in the memory burn
that good folk never forget.
Beginnings and endings progressing
toward a more is more corp
of engineers who through the years
built levees to sway direction
against her power of intention.
Still, she goes bending and
winding where she wants
smelling like catfish and boiled potatoes

Written by Sara Fielder © June 2012