Nice Town, Savannah

by Ernie McCray

Just returned home after
spending a very nice couple of days
in Savannah, Georgia,
a town well thought of
by anyone I’ve ever known
who has been there
and after being there myself
I can sing its praises too,
the beauty of its live oak
and Spanish moss trees,
the busy energy in the ports
off the river
that carries its name,
cobbled streets that remind you of
times gone by,
the food:
deep-fried chicken and barbecue
and seafood dishes, too,
with sides of red rice and grits
and buttery biscuits,
the jovial southern hospitality,
the wide array of multi-ethnicities
getting along easily.

Savannah is like Atlanta
when it comes to numbers of Black folks
because, when I stepped off the plane
into the city’s terminal,
African Americans were everywhere to be seen,
doing a little of everything,
directing Maria and me to where we could get a Lyft ride,
one driven by a sista
with Bob-Marley-looking-dreads
looking lovely on her head,
telling us how one of the best moves of her life
was moving to this beautiful town
and she lets us off at the Hyatt Regency
and after a nice night’s sleep
I head down to the lobby
for something to eat
and was greeted by an older Black woman
who calls over another Black woman
to seat me at a table
and I sit down and look around
and see about five or six Black cooks
making flames rise in the air
and as I dine on a crab-something-another benedict
with some biscuits
I turn my head and I’m facing a White man
who looked as old as me
and he says to me:
“How are you doing on this fine morning?”
with a smile on his face
that almost made me feel like I was on
Candid Camera,
considering my memories
of traveling below the Mason-Dixon line
with my mother in earlier times,
when I was a child,
unable, at the time,
to even imagine
having as good a time
as I was enjoying
in Savannah.

I mean a couple of times
I almost felt like singing:
“Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah!”

Nice town, Savannah.