On our east-side Detroit neighborhood: brick two-family flats with wide porches. Buildings so close together, windows open in summer (no one had AC; it was the 50s) we could hear noises of daily living, toilets flushing and pots and pans banging. The entire block across from us was open except for two houses attached by an enclosed bridge. This was the "recreation center". Beside the buildings on the south, basketball net and tennis court and sandbox pits with stakes for pitching horseshoes. On the north side, the children's playground with swings, monkey bars, and sandbox. The open field to the west, all the way to the next street, held baseball diamonds and soccer/football fields. In the winter, some of that area was turned into an ice skating rink. Bradley Recreation Center -- our go-to place every day.

Where we grew up, thrived
Took chances on ourselves
Met possibilities

Many have wondered
how those who do not worship
the dead
can find serenity
and a savior
in the inanimate
but I believe
that the remnants of passion
of earnest devotion
can be found
in the abandoned housing projects
on Detroit’s East Side
or on the wooden crosses
that line rustbelt interstates
the spirit of this land
and its people
can be found
in what they leave behind.

Here, in this village,  
I, am unpigmented canvas  

my suburban skin,  
unfamiliar.

Where the trees
bleed colors of resurgence  

into the vacant
and vibrant damp,  

dark, earth below  
to begin and paint again.

As I stood,  
on the wet street  
in solitude, behind
the external lens  
in my hands,
I could hear the passing  
of painted, ticking clock hands
as they whispered and waved
through static noise  
from precipitation  
around me–  
        I wondered,
if a past soul  
of mine, contributed  
to a time of white flight,  
when a financial crisis  
sprawled like a crack  
on a windshield, from a chip  
in glass, created  
by another battle  
between politicians.
My present soul,  
              resides,
in Heidelberg,  
where  
stories of others
become painted dots  
on buildings  
climbing walls  
like spiders,  
their painted eyes
against the stark white,
doted house
seeing all.

I learned of a love for treehouses,
And 8 mile.
Both the Detroit and Farmington sides.
I gave up deepthroating and cigarettes for New Years.

I developed an attachment to bridges.
Morrison, Hawthorne, Burnside, Steel, Tilikum
All pacing my afternoon runs.
Ambassador.
My favorite thing about traveling is coming home at the end.

I met another soul mate, one I don’t kiss.
We read our poems between English classes,
Scrounge up quarters for midnight subway runs,
Bond over an old love of car rides and vampire weekend.
She says
Life is excruciatingly painful,
And as your best friend I’ll let you know
“I only smoke **** with you, on tuesday evenings.”
(“And I only cry in public bathrooms at noon.”)

I learned home is where the heart is,
And my heart is always with my mother
I inked our love onto my skin in June.

I know now, that ******* is less scary and more of a sad college kid thing.
(But ****** is just as scary as it seems on TV.)
I met the pigeon man on 6th and Yamhill,
Swarmed by hundreds of grey flying rats
Kissing each one on the head before setting them back down.

I finally lost my father.
It didn't hurt half as badly as I imagined it to.

I invited too many girls to stay the night.
And one too many boys.
But I never regret holding you all close because friendship is ******’ magic.
Thank you my little pony.

I learned no, you can't flush toilet paper in Asia
And yes, elephants are incredible.
That spinning on a pole makes you an artist before anything else.
That embarrassment is worth it.
That therapy is worth it only sometimes.

I learned a language where I can finally be quiet.
Admitted to
Guilty pleasures
In pop music
And fried food.
My body is a temple that can handle some mac and cheese.
And beauty is much more loving your current state than anything else.

I love my current state.
Rain, and no sales tax,
and a candlelit home.

I visited the heavens today
all gods were absent
looked out the window
we were in the clouds

landed in Detroit
on a dreary day
why would it be any different?
this skeletal remain of a city

at least the bartender was great
but now I’m drunk wandering around
Detroit
hope I wake up in my hotel

Shell gas station with little neon green palm trees
perched upon the edge of the frenzied freeway,
          a picture of plastic paradise
     strewn with bright green lights
     like spotlights of limelight
     shedding light upon city life
               never far from the dark side...
    
     nearby, I spy
an assortment of street signs
to guide you into the night,
     so turn right, & drive right
     fly past the stoplight
     into the glare of red light
          & beware the districts of night life

Potholes sprinkled across empty Detroit streets
     like bullet holes in ***** bedsheets

Found within the vacant homes of the forgotten,
     alive with reminders of what used to be

Before the neighborhoods became abundant in abandoned homes
     and awash with abandoned people

Yearning for forgotten yesterdays suspended far from reach,
     searching for a memory of something concrete

While wandering along the crooked, cracked sidewalks
     cemented with resentments;

Forgotten, forsaken, forlorn, foreboding... foreclosure
     crisis spray-painted on the brick of a blown out home

Hungry for habitation despite dishevelment,
     *explicit with endless nothingness

From the passenger seat of my boyfriend's car
I keep my eyes wide while we drive, & watch
The world as it passes me, bye...

I wave from behind the tinted glass
Safely secured from the dangers that lie outside

We turn the radio all the way up
So we won't hear it squeak when we hit another speed bump

Instead we're blinded by bright city lights
Neon signs, streetlamps, & traffic lights;
Green then yellow then red, then red & blue (watch out, they're coming for you)

In the flashing lights, I see the city covered in a fresh coat of graffiti
Train-cars & abandoned buildings, dark alleys & concrete fences,
A bridge overpass where the streetlights have no electricity:

*"Danger Reality Ahead"

It was winter of 16'
I met a boy in the land of Mary,
We went on our first date in the diner,
With my boy, boy from Detroit.

We shared an omelette, he put on extra ketchup
A scene I'll keep reminiscing.
We talked and laughed, as if no one's there
Suddenly I felt something so familiar
On the way to his car, I asked if he's cold
He said, No I'm fine, I am from Detroit.

In his car to the movie, in downtown Washington, D.C.
The movie is  called Manchester by the sea
I looked at him while he talked about how his parents met in Annapolis.
My first blue eyed boy, oh Michael from Detroit.

He said that he would leave, in the month of February
To China, to pursuit his dreams.
I said ,it's fine, it's not like I am looking for a relationship.
Little did I know, I will fall for this boy from Detroit.

It was winter of 16', we always liked to have some ice cream
Wandering in the city of the district
Sometimes we didn't, sometimes we did
Know where the street is taking us to
We may stand in the cold, try to figure out which way to go
But with him I'd never get lost.

My boy from Detroit, it was never a fling
but why are there so many" what we could have been"?
Before you left, you asked my when do I know,
When do I know that I have feelings for you?
Well I guess it was the moment I unexpectedly agreed
to go to a movie with you after dinner
In your black Ford on a late Friday night

It was winter of 16'
We are both at the crossroad,not knowing where life
Would take us to
But we will be fine, after some time
We will meet again without tears in my eyes.
This is for you, Mike
Oh my boy from Detroit

When the day come,I would gladly
Change my last name to Olevnik.