The L

The L train snaked around the city

like a Chinese Dragon —

magic and omniscient.

We were vegans that summer,

propelled by hunger,

falafel shops our beacons.

The parks (whose names we did not know)

welcomed us for picnics in their shade.

I was a toothpick back then,

hair short, curled behind my ears.

You were so tall, towering over me,

your hair short too,

but brown, straight, with bangs.

The city opened her arms to our

sweaty, lanky bodies

and we accepted her embrace with her

bookshops, side-streets,

strangers, live music and cafes.

Those days were

full, meandering,

endless and free —

as best days tend to be.

I’m back in Chicago now.

I live here, actually.

But now the city, once a lover, is a friend.

I sip coffee on the deck with my dog

and listen to the L’s distant rumble.