Written while watching the Tarkovsky film and listening to the Chiky(u)u compilation…
As the cabin burns
in defiance of the downpour
Tupelo comes to mind
not as the birthplace of Elvis
but as a group of sounds
rolling off the tongue of my inner voice
The sounds of rumbling earth
burnish the crackling of the flames
which have their own quiet roar
I watch her watching
she exhibits no sense of alarm
as she splashes her face with water from the well
What of Tupelo?
Elvis is dead
the plague rages
Most of the map is red
(22 August 2021)
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