The ferry is a speedboat.
It slices sea from Land Rail Point
to cross the blue of ocean.
The sea is forefather deep,
the deep of slavery.
Long Cay: Fortune Island,
once a capital, once a city,
now is home to ruins, a nine-child school,
a community of twenty.
The ocean’s restless today. The landing’s a dock from a beach
that breaks the ocean swells. We draw the speedboat in,
leap from the prow. We face a hill. Its brow is crowned
with ruins: a courthouse, post office, gaol.
A hill, a road, and houses rise above us, the biggest in the region.
A black dog dances, tethered to a truck engine.
The fortune’s lost and buried.
The schoolroom’s tiny now, but out the door we see
the South’s cathedral, graveyard — entropy.