Editor’s Note: one of Savannah’s most earnest scribblers contributes this poetic gem this morning. It reminds me of lying in bed at Refuge Farm, listening to the lonely sound of the horn on the freight train rolling down the tracks that my ancestors helped to build. Trains, and night. A lot going on here, none of it particularly interesting. But you will be happy to know that the plumbing works again.
– Vic
5 AM
there is something about
Savannah,
it doesn’t let me feel guilty
that I have not had feeling for the
things so many others
need.
it has left me alone.
sitting up in my chair
with one dim light on,
listening for 5 AM train
whistle,
finishing off the
bottle of wine,
the softness of
the fruit
hits
me
as I hear a distant rumble
moving towards the
house.
I prefer trains
to
clocks
maybe I’m
crazy
trains know and call
out my name
clocks do
not
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