Gateway to Urbana | Lou Zeh

Gateway to Urbana

LOU ZEH

On late summer nights I melt into the dark, humid air, and become alive.

I wander deserted streets like the ghost I’m still trying to become; I fill my empty lungs with warm summer air. Asphalt is cracked and faded under my feet, But the stars above me sparkle like glass, Like the beads of water on the lid of my styrofoam takeout container after I put it in the microwave, Tiny dots wavering, throwing out pinpricks of light.

The buildings around me are dark, stark shadows thrown up across the sky, And I think about the tall glass buildings a few streets behind me. They must glimmer even this late at night.

They’re beautiful, I’m sure, Man-made canyons of glass and steel, But I like this more:

Brick buildings Parking lots in the dark Water trickling over concrete The stars.

I follow the water, Wander along riverbanks coated with dried out weeds Until I reach the border And I stop.

But I remember my body is small and female shaped and I’ve gotten six massmails about muggings in the past week. So I veer to the light, Stand in the spotlight cast by the double circle k’s while I long for the darkness running underneath the bridge across the street.