Natalie González

DuSable’s Home

Organ pipes tower over the city like a cathedral
Humming through with the click clack of El tracks
Whistling winds whisper through, Wabash

Spilling secrets like Goose Island root beer overflowing in Buckingham Fountain
Flooding the streets like flames from the Fire

Worshipping gangsters and making disciples on Kostner and Karlov
like Jesus at the sea of Galilee

Burning into the water tower
exposing Mrs. O’Leary cow’s skeleton

Branches spine out purple, pink, and brown, red
bleeding into seams of the Windy City

Singing praises.


What it’s like being a daughter of a father with MS for those who aren’t

It’s like watching someone you love grow stronger every day,  seeing his anger grow like an stubborn flower, turning green in a fit of rage because he can’t find his dysfunctional back brace,  throwing it across the room,  it’s hiding and never being found in a game of hide and go seek,  it’s like wishing you had been there when he  got the diagnosis and seeing the hope in his eyes when he knew he can do something about it, it’s like walking through Beverly on a sunny day and hearing him talk about his Vietnam experience or tenants in  our building, watching him catch his fall over that Sunday sidewalk lift, it’s like writing a poem about your father you thought you never could.


The Return of Shafro

(after Terrance Hayes)

Leaving            bits



self-esteem on the tile sweeping away my courage

(like Samson’s strength into a dustpan)

                        Cornrows flake

                 Twists locked away


a jailer watching from the window God shaking dandruff

from his head


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