The River Loves Martha
Kat Neal

Down the Blue Springs River, a person may smell

fresh buttered popcorn wafting in from gator-guarded

shores. If the person is lucky enough to have Martha,

the tenured guide for over 20 years (Thank You, Martha),

the popcorn smell may be pointed out and all boat

passengers may allow themselves to sniff at the air.

Sweet Martha, what a wonder it is to be so powerful, to give

direction that melts social constriction. And for over 20

years! (Thank You, Martha!) If Martha is in a good mood,

and her knees don’t hurt, and a person drops their nose

long enough for their ears to open, Martha may explain

that there is a parasitic vine producing the buttery popcorn-

ish smell, rather than a gator who’s employed to operate

movie-theater-sized popcorn kettles (Thank You, Martha!

I’m Sorry About Your Knees). If a person who, having heard

Martha, can bear to snap shut their jaw-dropped-jaw,

Martha might take a long sip of sweet tea and swallow

a huff-sigh before announcing that the parasitic-buttered-

popcorn-orange-spaghetti-looking vine is named the Love

Vine. YES, THE LOVE VINE, Martha may repeat with pursed

lips as she knots her long grey hair into a horse-like low pony.

A person floating down the Blue Springs River on Martha’s

boat might crane their neck to see the Love Vine cast over

the native shrubs, tangles and piles of clementine-colored

noodles dripping from cypress branches and mangrove

leaves. The person, later, may forget to thank Martha

when stepping ashore. Martha may not notice, busy

taking her long grey hair out of the horse-like low pony,

the silver sheet of it getting caught by a stray breeze like

the river wind itself couldn’t help but run its fingers

through the strands. (Thank You, Martha), the wind might say,

(We’re Sorry It’s Called The Love Vine).