Sat in my favorite little organic bakery this morning with a double espresso and a blueberry muffin. Watched the urban hipsters, the Gen X-ers with their kids, and the ladies from the suburbs who venture into the City on Saturdays. Skimmed the MetroTimes; read a review of Charlie Wilson's War (a film I saw last night--worth watching.) Turned the page and stumbled on this poem by Mariela Griffor, a local poet.
Detroit
When I drive down from
Grosse Pointe on Warren
a sudden knot in my heart
is born.
Solitude is roaming
with the images of
a city broken
and gone.
I cross my fingers
hoping I won't see
any black cats
crossing
these steaming manholes.
Detroit, so full of churches,
so where is God?
Could He be hiding
under politicians'
coats?
A "mon cher"looked through my car window
and believed
he melted snow.
His eyes aflame
consumed two seconds
when the red light stopped.
City in flames,
who took away your palaces?
It was not me.
I am a foreigner,
I just came to see.
Detroit, wake up
from your sleep.
Rebuild your empire.
Rebuild it so I can see.
Forget about
black LaKeishas
and your white Portias.
Forget about your yellow Chengs
and your brown Carolas.
Let the golden haze
that rusts on your aura
shine proudly
on your face again.
Let a feeling of goodness
drench the city like a storm.
Let your dreams flourish and endure.
Turn the holy fight into
salutation.
Let the happiness return.
Leave your vinegar grief behind.
Let me see, Detroit.
Let me see
And just when it seemed I could go 48 hours without tears dripping down my face...well, there they were again.
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