Saint Paul

Sometimes I feel nostalgic. This is what happens:

Saint Paul

I know you
tall buildings along
the winding river,
familiar skyline with
the number one
sign flashing above
all other towers.
I know you
hill-top cathedral
and heartland feel,
though the world
thinks there’s nothing
between our booming
coastal cities and
southern bell states.
I know your
July fireworks and
your humid August’s
unbearably hot heat.
I know your
frozen river Januaries
and snow-covered Decembers,
your winter carnival,
and your summer
barbecue block parties.
I know those
paddled river boats
and heavy-laden barges.
I know your
smell in springtime
when all the
snow is melting.
I know the
life and leaves
which always grow
in your woods
and your parks.
Though many people’s
faces fade each
day I’m away,
I know your
soul in all
the many people
in your crowds.
I know the
standstill of traffic
after hockey games.
I know your
story all too
well and your
very first name,
and the pioneers
braving the cold
and sweltering heat.
Now so silently
they do remain.
And you know
my own story,
my heart as
well as I.
You have seen,
watched me grow,
and gracefully you
have let me go.

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