by Troy Cady
with thanks to Heather for line one
The city has her head in the clouds now,
her street-side aspirations: green
her top-side: unseen
her body and soul: tall and strong,
rooted deep with thick mist dreams sky-high,
historic in brick with a future in glass.
Do not worry. She will not leave her smiling poor.
She is here to stay
though she would reach higher
than the rain’s wide spout,
all the way to God’s mouth
where grace and mercy reign
and justice for all is made without jails.
Her greatness is limited, though.
She lives by The Lake,
whose far-shore lies beyond eyeshot.
Truth told, the city envies
her sister’s insistent simplicity:
Michigan rises and falls subtly,
swells in union with the wind,
reflects the sky without effort,
bearing nature’s mood.
Like the Oracle at Delphi
we look to her to divine the Divine,
uncontrolled and controlling.
We fear The Lake’s solid honesty—
her unchanged changing—
so we make our home
on avenues of madness
whose potholes we have learned to dodge
without the thrill of descent.
When we want to feel high and lifted up
we go down
to see ourselves reflected
in a warped silver seed
placed out of shore’s sight.
Thankfully, the water remains,
patient as gravity,
with harbors whispering
invitations to sail