S. B. Borgersen

The Erasure of Delphine’s Bridge

The bluesman sings Delphine into the dark. Watching nothing. Rolling tongue around the lyrics. His eyes, slo-mo, as the harmonica weeps its way in with the bridge—asking questions—where she has been and why don’t she love him no more? He sees her then red-haloed lit, under his eyelids. Ain’t had no lovin’, he nasal-sings. Why dontcha come back to me?…

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