I found a dark and quiet place in the middle of the city –
quite a feat, it being so loud and light most of the time.
The night is blackest there. The sound is stifled there.
I suppose it would be like finding the loudest, brightest
place in a winter’s forest – a place that feels out of place, but
exciting in its oddness.
This city is built of broken brick.
Brick is made of clay.
Most of the clay comes from out of town.
Me too.
Like the brick, I come from some place else.
A place I’m not so proud of.
A place that’s, well,
not like this city.
I pull my collar down to hide that it’s not blue.
But it’s not white either. What kind of collar
do people like me wear? It’s never come up
in a job interview.
Brick and mortar.
Brick and mortar.
It goes together like…
A man got shot down the street.
That never happened where I grew up.
We’re supposed to build up, but sometimes
I see the old buildings fall down.
It goes ‘something’ by brick to show
progress, but that something’s been
cracked a long time now.
This city is built of broken brick but it does not
sway in the wind like other towns.
It does a lot of good to know
what you’re made of.
The Drive Media House guys at it again.
My love poem to Cincy. The city that’s gritty not shitty.
Through My Eyes: The Cincinnati Love Story from Drive Media House on Vimeo.
Tyler Strittmatter 