chicago

Chicago

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

blue

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

town

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

to children

awaiting birth