I’m watching Bobbi Gentry on some long forgotten music show.
She is beautiful, still, focused on her guitar, eyes looking down.
Big hair, big eyelashes.
My colleague walks past and asks if this is Amy Winehouse .
We listen together and i see my colleague, young, funky, getting sucked into the narrative.
The song ends, there is a pause,
“but what did she throw over the Tallahasse bridge?” asks my colleague
and from no-where she starts telling me HER version of the song.
I bite my lip, push back the correction, MY version.
I’m thinking about Bobbi Gentry
Queen of southern Gothic,
Living privately in LA for over 30 years.
I stare at the video clip, looking for some clues, some answers to her self imposed exile.
I wonder what she looks like now, if she still sings, does the Ballad of Billy Joe haunt her as it does me.
I’m dreaming about Bobbi Gentry,
walking across the Tallahasse bridge,
When i wake, the dream remains, just caught at the edge of wakefullness.
It stays with me all day.