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.