by E’mon Lauren

Bless

Chicago, a crafty caucus, we cocooned in. a kid’s folded cot and cubby. we the poster childs. the classes, the pastels and pastillage. we be born here. we burn the bridges, the borders. the blues, crossing and cutting, our lines, a Van Gogh. our skyline, a Monet we walk through. we paint the sky. our businesses, a bristled brush. a wave check in our back pockets. bless the waters. bless the running blocks and bodies. bless this city, this midwest spill, a tarp on the plains. Chicago, the antique found and refurbished. thank god for the Jean Point’s, the Ida’s keeping the wells wet with words. how could we leave you. our paper made mache. we decorated, and party favored. everyone wants to take us home. our house, a language spoken and understood by all. and this is fresh. and this is the best. we beat the winds, the snows, the whites as glue. they want us stuck, tacky and leaving marks. Chicago, a command strip. the commandos and comrades on a cold walk, we leave all traces that something was hung here. we the sun outline. the color fading around us. we want our tint back. give us back our 4 corners. our hustle. our gods and his disciples. we got discipline. an ass whooping from windy. bless the o.g.’s , our vaselines. we slick face and quick pace. Chicago, we love you. your grease and grime. we crime, we cram. we a.m darkness and a lit train. bless the quiet nights. bless the next day with no old highlights. bless the front page, bless the instagram feeds, the shade rooms, and no to fox news. bless the alerts, the disheartens and hurts. bless this art. bless this expression. this free will fried in our wings. we saucy, we soaring. Chicago, a recipe we’ll fight for. a reason to call our parents back, our rents depend on it. the rage, the rants, the raid. we infest the country. Chicago, a pile of glitter, blown away.