Thursday, September 22, 2016

Chicago

After the check-out,
with my strolley behind me,
I set out walking in this city
that was strange
only till this morning
meant for leaving
made its streets familiar
with the colours of cities past.


The light had just
settled on the concrete
and filled it with other evenings
from other places.

A square with a fountain,
a parking lot bathed in rust,
and the purple that refused
to leave the downtown sky even
after the night had left, marked
only places that had come before.

At the Washington Park red-light,
I turned into memory,
slipping tokens of the last decade
into the cracks;

at West Delaware Place,
my hands were again heavy with touch;

and near Lassalle Street,
those old steps upto an apartment,
flanked by iron, and petunias, on either side,
made me climb them,
wait a little,
knock,

and the idea of you opened the door
and the idea of you said "What took you so long?"
as the purple left the sky
slowly behind me.

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