wild child: A story of the singing gut

A story of the singing gut

grace gutekanst

Strolling down Savannah streets

covered in moss-blown trees

and warm air balancing

between ancient buildings

and a southern beach that whispers to the

grains inching there way to foam lips

I'm not supposed to be alone

He told me he'd drive me home safely

I don't need safety

I focus on signs

while my feet chant to each other

after the other

Music starts and stops in my head

I'm singing loudly

It's 3am

But even the street can't hear me

My arms swing

to help my elbows forget they exist

And..

"Nice voice beautiful" shouts out

There's no one on the street.

I continue to sing.

Then I look up

to find blue eyes

wild child