The Girl From Chicago

It’s been so long
Since I thought of you,

Dreaming we’d met
During high school –

Sitting in back
Of that classroom,

Wishing you real
In my head.

I’d think about
Places we’d live –

An apartment perhaps
Off of Lake Shore,
Where we’d paint our days
Using oils
Across old walls
Turning grey

As the kettle would steam
Every morning
And sunshine peaked
Through our windows,

Holding me tight
While you smiled
As your red locks bobbed
When we’d kiss.

I’d often pretend
You were there,
Hoping for years
I could find you,

Driving down
Michigan Avenue
With my cousin in tow
At the wheel –

Seeking my muse
Far away,

Leaving New York
Ever desperate

On a personal whim
So ridiculous
I’d swear it was love
To this day.

Now I’m sickly,
Married, and old,

Adoring my wife
Just as special,

Telling her once
There was Mia –
A Chicagoan girl
With peach hair,

The saint whose name
Became grace
When a sad man’s soul
Remained lonely,

An angel whose face
Offered solace
During years spent
Seeking that warmth.

She’s the proof of God
I would need
To meet my spouse
Who was waiting
After years of prayers
Begging romance
For a poet whose fate
Appeared grim.

I’m an artist
Because she exists,

I’m her bluesman
Wailing on high notes –

Blessed by the hope
She did give me,
Always high
Despite feeling so low.

When I die
Those curtains will lift,

Like memories
Unveiling her presence,

As words did express
Over decades
What beautiful truth
She revealed.

  • J. Pigno

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