Daydream of the homesick general

with a gourd gut. Grounds of the narrow

beef-broth river. Expanse of barracks

and fairgrounds, cathedral malls, bright

jeeps. Namesaken, swollen town.

Copper-top towers of insurance magnates, 

medical hall of fame. City of remaining

maples, snuffed neon, pensioners

ruminating over donuts.

‍

Someone keeps the kitchen light on

for me there. The half moons

under her eyes hold my fingerprints.

Blue boxes, black walnuts, aftermath

of skunk. A tunnel I threaded

my bike through. On summer nights,

the howls of monkeys caged in an aging

amusement park gave chase.

‍

City, I can almost see you. City, I have

a flawed allegiance. My founding

father is the doctor mopping

classroom floors.

‍

City of benign industries, warm gusts

of cornflakes and beer. In pauses,

the river itself—slick muck, still turtles,

rot. A volunteer on scaffolds

faithfully repaints Return to Your

Fortress, O Prisoners of Hope.

‍

City of my sudden lankiness, your clouds

spark with plus and minus signs,

drenching restored Victorians, forgotten

laundry, the path where my name

is an absence in a park bench.

‍

Sadiqa de Meijer’s first book is Leaving Howe Island. She lives in Kingston. The title “Because There Was and There Wasn’t a City” is from the work of Jamelie Hassan, an artist.