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Big City

In the big city,
The sky turns black every morning.

Black like coffee, truck exhaust.
Strangest thing you ever saw.

People who aren’t from there
Don’t see it, they don’t understand.

Living there, you take it for granted.
It becomes part of your day

Like brunch, or traffic, midnights downtown.
You just grow to expect it, and there it is.

Then you move away, to the countryside
And see that mornings are different

Everywhere you go. Some little towns,
Salty ones, by the water,

The morning is purple, periwinkle
Is the proper word, I think,

And out west, the sky burns
Seven shades of orange before noon.

You go up north, and it’s grey.
All the time grey, always winter.

I’m not making this stuff up, you know.
You can see it for yourself, just buy a ticket.

Then one day, when you go back,
To the big city, I mean,

You see that black morning sky,
Again and for the very first time, it’s odd.

It’s the kind of thing that makes you
Want to quit cigarettes, for sure.

It makes you long for the countryside,
For a baby blue easy breathing sunrise.

And you’ll never look at a pack of smokes
The same, not ever again.

10 thoughts on “Big City Leave a comment

  1. I’ve experienced this, beautifully captured. Grew up in the city, lived north, south, east & west, shores, lakes, seas & middle of nowhere. The stars are different as well as mornings.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Thank you for visiting my blog. I loved this piece, having lived in several different places – city and country – and different hemispheres. If ever you want to write about stars camp out in the Australian desert where there’s an enormous glittering sequinned sky that will take your breath away:)

    Liked by 2 people

  3. The line “baby blue easy breathing sunrise” paints a really vivid picture — for some reason, I imagine it smelling quite sweet, but in a soft, almost imperceptible way. And Lily’s idea is a good one. A companion piece on the stars would be well received.

    Liked by 1 person

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