Missing

If I ever moved away,

this is what I would miss about you, Chicago . . . .

I’d miss the way you uncurl

summer like a snake hissing.

I’d miss the way you loiter in winter

like the guys in Union 126

who hang on the bar after work

but don’t know when to leave.

I’d miss the way you smell

of lilacs in April, of hot dogs

and exhaust fumes on an August night,

or beer and brats on the barbecue

when the moon tells its sins

in confession, and the Bean

flaunts her warped secrets

to anyone who’ll listen.

–excerpt from “Missing” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective 2011). First published in River Oak Review.

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