Chicago,
through the window of my hotel room
a mural, three emoticons, offers me smiles. I
send my feeling back to them across the void,
connecting occupants to buildings. Nighttime,
lights invade your streets and sky
as if to defenestrate the night
descending. Festival city of light,
you do not host darkness, Chicago.
Far away, over there on the other side of the water
where pleasure boats drag
stands Trump Tower, a box of glasswork and
light that cuts to the sky’s dazzled quick,
mixing arrogance with the chill,
naked, shocking, sharp. Apart from the cruel cold,
Chicago’s mask is the size of its ugliness,
a few black strokes projecting its
underground lives.
I like returning to my window every morning
to contemplate the three smiles on that building,
staged for my wonder. What are these three
faces tucked away at the top of this city of double standards,
blinding glass and light? Chicago’s dark cavity
will be exposed, surrounded by furrows of fires,
and these smiling faces will laugh their heads off.
Chicago,
through my hotel room window
your three emoticons make me smile. I
give them back the sympathy seized in the void
that unites these floors to their occupants. The evening,
the lights invade your streets and your sky
as if to defenestrate the night
who goes down there. City of the festival of lights,
you do not harbor darkness. Chicago!
Far away, over there, on the other side of the body of water
on which pleasure boats drag
stands Trump Tower, a box of glazing and
lights cut on the spot dazzle the sky
with all his arrogance mixed with the cold
from here, bare, daring, sharp. Apart from this cruel cold
Chicago made a mask the size of its ugliness,
posted in a few black strokes off his
superimposed lives.
I like to come back to my window every morning
contemplate the three smiles of this building
in front of my curiosity. What are these three hiding?
faces at the top of this two-faced city,
blinding windows and lights? This cavity
coffered will come out in the middle of the furrows of fires
the time when these masks will be the laughter of their lives.
—
Patron Henekou is a poet and playwright, and co-organizer of the Festival of Literature and Arts (FesLArts) at University of Lomé, Togo. He writes in French and English, and translates. His poems have appeared in anthologies such as Palms for Togo, Arbolarium: Poetic Anthology of the Five Continentsand Best “New” African Poets 2017 Anthologyand in poetry journals such as AFROpoetry, Journal of Citizens of Letters, Aquifer: The Florida Review Onlineand Kalahari Review. His published works include a play in English, Dovlo, or A Worthless Sweat (2015), a poetry book in French entitled Heartfelt Breaths (2017), and a poetry chapbook Breaths & Faces (2018). Henekou was a Langston Hughes Fellow at the 2018 Palm Beach Poetry Festival.
Connie Neighbor is the author of the new book of poems, The Bowera book-length poem about her family’s time in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Her previous books, Florist Street, and Rare High Meadow of Which I Might Dream are also published by University of Chicago Press. Rare High Meadow was a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Award. Her first book, Cathedral of the North, won the Associated Writing Program’s Award in Poetry. She has poems published in The New Yorker, Poetry Magazine, and elsewhere. Her work was featured at The Lab at Belmar, a museum show pairing prehistoric stone tools with poems. Voisine was a Fulbright Fellow in the School of English at Queen’s University in 2012 and a 2021 Guggenheim Fellow.
