Unfinished

this is the first poem i've written in months, so even though it's in need of some revision, i'm putting it out there... because i think writing is meant to be shared.

The magic of

Tall, canyoned streets,

Sunset reflections at the lake front,

Sirens layered on symphonies

Of color and activity,

The sidestreet blues bar where smiley, surly Joe

Called up groups of white, Latino, and Asian musicians

To join the jam – they play

From the belly and light up the eyes of the watching weary,

The el train to DePaul on a Cosby street,

Or my beloved Mexico beckoning through a dark-eyed bartender,

Serving tropical, smoky-sweet and tangy-tongued tastes

To sultry samba sways.

Is it possibility, or triumph?

Full bellied, I clattered down your streets, enamored of

Traffic, of industry, of old bridges facing down steel-windowed facades.

I lusted for you without knowing, and

You sated my desire

Until I could only brim with the buzzing of excitement.

Yes,

I was born here, close by.

I came into the world and quickly walked away,

And in my absence you grew glorious.

Thirty years later you called out to me, and I found you,

Arriving at myself

This perfect blue-sky day.

Unbelieving in my good fortune, our fair match.

These days I am more easily captivated by a place,

Falling in love with cities is the new high,

Now that my ring finger is fixed on one man and sobriety simplifies.

Now I live to discover new homes for my heart

And the world beckons endlessly, the many-metropolised Medusa.

Explore, discover, enjoy, she whispers.

Some cities are certainly sexy.

Mutual attraction, or fated fantasy?

Is it in the forgetting of self

that accompanies adulthood,

making the senses ring when life's nectar drips into view?

Or have I earned this appreciation

through toiling hours and quiet questioning? 

What a world! What a life! I'll take you with me when I go,

Chicago.