Southern Flower, I want to quote the bard,

to serenade you, to raise a glass to you.

Long & tall you are always parched

& hungry. You wobble in strong winds, you

puff your bright hair when it rains, you

toss off the lint of dandelions, you

lean into the evening haunts

with your indifferent afro. You

were born in the old-world city, the invisible

dark girl city, the city that couldn’t hold

a candle, a straight pin, a slave-owner’s sins

to you. You are the most beautiful

            dark that hosts the most private sorrows

            & feeds the hungriest ghosts.