Savannah

Go down to Bull Street and walk around Monterey square. That's where the where the little parks are.

Then come back up on Bay Street, and find the alleys, especially those near Jones Street. Wander down a few of them, breathing in their European atmosphere. In this closed-in place you feel the presence of  Savannah herself, with those big old trees and fancy little bushes, and ever-changing views and blending of plants and houses.

Wander down the business district, come back Abercorn and Drayton, walk west awhile on Victory Drive, then back up on Liberty. Stop in at Lum’s for hot dogs steamed in beer. Then come back through the alleys, marveling at the changing scenes of hidden beauty – like unexpected glimpses of Savannah’s frilly bloomers.

On some wide streets the houses stand three stories high, with bay windows that always fling the last rays of the setting sun back into those great trees in their front yard. Pink-and-orange houses brighten dark magnolias that would have hidden them, and a glistening black house  stands surrounded by trees now bearing bright red, gold and yellow leaves. Sycamore trees, gums and dogwoods sprinkle magic into the world – here in this ancient land, in a great old city which in the autumn glows like a jewel with the hues, shades and tones of lazy afternoons.

On another corner a bright green house rises out of shaggy palms, lifting massive black wrought-iron balconies high above the streets. Stairs ascend to a dark roof above the moss-draped live oaks. Boulevards with palm trees down their median lead through ghostly mansions and Spanish moss.

Everywhere small parks are found, each sufficient unto eternity for comtemplating contented thoughts, places just right for personal dreams.  Private little places all over the city – but not bothered by it – little places, but each one is filled with ghosts.

Ah, Savannah!

Child of matron, plump and fretful.

Sired by pirate full of dance;

seductive touch and grinning dark eyes.

Soul of gold with lusty lips that taste of wine

and sweet young nipples,

Now he lies on the ocean floor,

in tropic water, warm and green.

Savannah’s mother sailed back to Boston –

became a virgin girl again!
Now she's part of the Upper Crust,
and has vanished in a different sea.

Savannah though, still sits and waits,

beneath those moon-stretched mosses.

Watching for black sailing ships

that surely someday must come back 

so she can finally sail away.

1971.1127Sa&1971.1130.Tu
© John Womack, 2007. All rights reserved.