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  • Writer's pictureMaria Whittaker

Chicago : A Poem

I spent Saturday downtown and it had been awhile since I was in the city. Chicago is odd where I get a craving to go deep in its heart every so often. I snapped a picture of some buildings during golden hour and was later inspired to write this poem. It's nothing deep, just a little vignette of the city I call home.


Slip-slick city streets Tires swishing and smacking Light congeals in sheets And icicles are cracking. Gold glints on rust Wherever wet it wanders The sky's fresh molten crust Is bluing in its yonders. Golden hour is here Golden hour is gone Navy is the pier The lake is pink as prawn. The city slick with promise The city golden-grey Tonight is made of onyx Tomorrow's bright as day.

- M. P. Whittaker -

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