Dear Chicago,

I love the afternoon light glinting off your teeth

grinning down the length of your lanky streets

and winking.  Or I love the Sears tower

ugly as an electric plug but dauntless, daring

to poke the sky in the belly

’til she laughs thunder

all the way to her toes.  I love

the summer haze over your lake, blurring the

line between sky and water

a faulty mirror to show us only your best Side

distorting the cracks and potholes

I love the sunsets

even though I know they burn brighter from

slowly accumulating death

from the  smokestacks breathing coal over the places

where you keep your poor, your immigrants.

I eat breakfast today of elotes or leftover dosai

before rushing along to work on a

silver zipper down your sprawling spine, alone

with thirty other people and the skyline at my elbow.

I love snow on the boulevards, thick and white

a motherly blanket you wrap around me before

warming it to slush–for now though

you’re making up

for the litter and the boarded buildings

you’re promising to do better, next time

For now I believe you, I

forgive you Chicago

and your gleaming glass smile

your sunsets, your chlorine water

I forgive you

with this postcard, a letter from a lover

who hasn’t left you yet.