Ten years, 10,000 lifetimes.
Who’s counting?
This time you felt it before I did.
I believed the rumor that the city
was one big office park.
I couldn’t see past
the money chasers and wealth worshippers
but you found
the art
the real people
who grew up here
who immigrated here
and you showed me the places
that would revitalize my heart’s
downtown.
(was it ever not a vital organ?)
The heart of my heart
does not need to displace
its dark and brooding poets,
nor its madwomen
swinging from lamposts
in manic glee,
because you are generous enough
to live among them
clean up their messes
help them make rent.
My love,
let us put down roots
in this fertile valley
raise a son who is not afraid
to be generous with his neighbors
to be a citizen among immigrants
a transplant among natives.
Let us feather our nest
with humor, honesty, respect,
and a love that transcends time and place
and welcomes the wanderers home.