Blackbeard’s Lass
Baskin Cooper
Blackbeard’s Las
I met him by the inlet
his beard a tangle of smoke and salt
braided ribbons catching firelight
eyes dark as storms off Hatteras
he spoke of laying anchor for good
a cottage tucked in the dunes
my hand bound with his
his cutlass rusting on the wall
but on shore he staggered and swayed
the ground pitched beneath his boots
he leaned against market stalls
clutched doorframes as if to keep from drowning
I feared it was rum or madness
yet the doctor only frowned
said the sea had claimed his body
that land would sicken him whole
the cure is motion he said
canvas splitting with wind
decks rolling like thunderclouds
waves breaking iron against wood
so I watched him return again
to smoke and rigging and flame
his heart left beating beside me
his body chained to the tide