The city was oddly near barren. Strides hit the dimming sidewalk in two-to-one ratio. Money looming tall above our covered heads.
When cornered into the shade humans are unable to cast shadows. Our path was laid clear by store closings, locked doors ushering us down toward neon outlined water to stare across gleaming black while the shadowed lions bray.
Cloth turns to quarters turns to pink fortune turns to bright reflections across irises while years of the same story vibrate across our fingers.
Gears paid in hope spin warm with the smiles of those come before. Lamps once bright now flicker and crack, and the ballroom dancers don’t quite turn with the fervor of before. Sometimes what seems a flaw is what makes the object most itself; inconsistencies or strange logics from somewhere different than where you wanted.
Certain hands grasped against throats are comfort blankets to soothe the burning, forcing skin and bones to remember that with selflessness and love the past will no longer obfuscate paths where feet need to fall most.
No sparing rejoinders for improvements, or constant encouragement in what is already done well. Every mile and hour leading to those sea salted boards totally rearranged me.
Fought 11 hours and 771 miles of asphalt to press my face in where I was worst. The greatest gift one can receive: not encouragement, but total excoriation of the places where I was once only limping.
Let the train cars tilt with our backs due West, shoulders sagging with knowledge half-learned, thrice remembered.
Two deer stand in the rearview as my tires turn heatward. Smiling as I realize your Country grew to reflect your worth. Not the other way around.