The city lives there

on the  sidewalks of

West Rogers Park Chicago.

I can hear its rhythm

in the voice of the old lady who said good morning back

A stranger’s greeting: How are you?

Fine.

 

 I passed an empty bus stop.

Guess the people got tired of waiting

Underneath a thousand feathered soldiers

perching in a line.

 

When the sky is grayer

Than the world of            

West Rogers Park Chicago,

I could live on only air.

Though my worries stop my breathing.

A snowflake falls and I can feel

the ice dusting my hair.

I realize.

 

Walking home in the snow

by the roads of

West Rogers Park Chicago-

The snow falls in silence

I’ll be alright.

figuring out

my best reason for living

is just to be alive.