Chicago, IL

* The first in a series of travelogue poems

I’m told


When the sun strikes the lake

So acutely

You might glimpse those held forcibly in Nature’s cruel grip—

Like black-suited businessmen, who race down State Street

     chasing gilded windmills, or

Quiescent beggars, who crouch on Cottage Grove

     searching through second-hand shopping carts, or

Bright-eyed dreamers, who crawl about on Damen & Milwaukee

     finding their colorful metropolis through a self-inflicted haze—

They’re all looming just above the surface,

Desperately struggling to break free

Into the swift, stunning air of Grace

By Jake Adams