The Silver Palmetto

The Silver Palmetto

After Winter Park

Red cabooses

Refurbished Pullman cars neatly parked, 

Grey marshes on beige riverbeds 

Flash by

Spring grows as we travel northward.

Narrow paths dotted with flashing red lights

Clanging loudly announcing

Little towns, big cities, now

An open field with calves brown, white, and creamy

A long look in a lull, as my eyes take in boats 

moored under a bridge in Jacksonville

Tall buildings in a distance

Pointy and shiny

Stopping and going, 

sliding and curving

Bouncing and swaying as on a wave 

that makes it difficult to hold on as I walk with one unsteady knee down to the dining car.

My young travel companion leads the way,

over wet metal joiners that are as slippery as butter.

We return cautiously with our arms full of dinner. 

We talk and eat.

Then she asked me, are you a Christian? 

I am, too, she says, showing me the tiniest of earrings, 

She is so brave.

Then a conversation: 

I tell her my Maria survival story, 
about moving my trash can out of the shower and turning the stall into a safe place.

Even how I started my path to meet the Messiah,

then we go back to what we were doing.

I go back to my crocheting

She plays

On her game boy. 

The conductor signals that Savannah is fast approaching

She thanks me for talking to her!

I thank her, as we say

Goodbye 

And my new found friend disembarks.

The sun is setting as we pull away from Savannah

The lights begin to flicker,

The shimmer of the sun low on the river

I follow the sights out my window

With little light left I see

Glimpses of a black river 

With a ripple breaking through it,

Feathery pines with skirted branches,

Some Spanish moss sways,

The dark forest wet by the rain

Sprinkles muddy creeks

That shimmer as the sun is lower on the river. 

We stop. 

For what seems an eternity. 

Suddenly a long brown train thunders by rattling us, 

Then we crawl forward and 

we are in Yemesee.

On our way to Charleston,

A man gets onboard and now sits next to me.

He is an intelligent gentleman but not used to

A Latina striking up a conversation.

The whistle blows.

I let it go, but not before learning he 

and his family are heading to Bronx for a happy graduation. 

As the train rocks us gently 

And the whistle blows deeply

Through the Low Country

On my way to Wadmalaw

Seeped in Gullah, 
Palmettos,

Friends, memories,

Marshes, and dreams.