One morning last year I sat in an empty coffee shop in the early morning and tried to write a poem about walking with my grandfather on the bridge over the Chicago River when I was 8 years old. It was our last walk before he died. I remembered eating cotton candy and marveling at the intricate cables of the bridge. Suddenly the memory of taking his hand became so physically overwhelming that I had to get up and roam around for a while. I was in two places at once. Then I came back and revised the lines. For a poet, that's the writing life.
~ Edward Hirsch
[Chicago Avenue at Damen Avenue; top photograph, State Street in light of Chicago Theatre; bottom, Chicago Avenue at Damen Avenue]
