Miriam Feder home



Fieldsclock smThis piece has changed a lot since I posted it last. It somehow embodies all the feelings I had when, as a little girl, I’d see all those railroad lines moving into Chicago.

I cross steel arteries stretching
red blood to locales I will never live in
when I taste city juice.

Her jeweled waterfront disappoints some,
and for millions, it sings
work, wealth and getting by.

Elevated cars, elevated dreams…
push through two feet of partly cloudy
and sour summer stockyard winds.

When age dissolves, dis-loves, dislikes,
disrepairs and despairs,
plastic drive-by-dream-crates look good–for a moment.

Come on, City! update your glory.
Glass boxes, frappacined granite, pillars
and designer concrete.

Stilettos, boots and flip flops race by.
Welcome back, garbage trucks,
permits and little bags of dog shit.

I won’t resent your pretense;
so long as my padded shoulders
paint my own miracle on the mile.