The Home City

I am your caged sunsets

And melting grey snows,

Your sick, soaring highways

And thin, flightless crows;

/

I am your pale faces,

And ever-rushing feet;

I am your gas shackles,

Your old madman’s grip;

/

I’m the shallow breath feeding

Your collapsing lungs;

I am your heart pumping

Cold blood in black lumps;

/

I’m the unwilling heiress

To your granite grandeur,

To your history’s jewels,

Its demons and debts;

/

Your prodigal daughter is back –

Let me in!

I tried to run from you,

But how,

When I’m your kin?