One time we went to the Vineyard
We rented a car and got a late start.
When we got to the ferry, it was dark
and storming.
Halfway across, we were lifting
      and falling.
Look, look at the waves, I said to
      my mother.
“No,” she said, slightly green. She was
thinking of life vests, I bet.
She was born and raised in Savannah
but didn’t swim.
She was good on land though.
When we got over, we went back
    out in the
wind that made a Y out of the
    umbrella.
The Black Dog was packed. It was
the epitome of Yankee ingenuity.
    A happy crowd. Music.
And chili to rival O’Brien’s.
She loved the Inn room and Henry
    who waited our table.
He wore a bow tie and went with
    the Inn.
When we had to leave a few days
    later,
I could tell she was reluctant. Not
    because
of the ferry. Because of the knowledge.
That this was a one of a kind place.
And she might not get back.

— Bonnie Green