In Singapore, exiting the subway, alone,
After 11 at night, transferring
to the bus, waiting in line at the stop,
grabbing a seat, next to an unknown
man, on for four stops, climbing off,
street dark, walking alone.
The air thick around me, also
soft and active like a runny egg. I’m
sweating, even this late at night. The
only one on the long ped-crossing over
the highway, climbing down the steps,
in front of a school, now dimmed except
for a security light or two. I see
the highrises up ahead but no one
on this side of the street. Vegetation glints
in the dark, tropically large, thick, scented. Sounds
I can’t identify, animal, wind, coming from the density.
Yet, I feel so safe. I walk and glide, wrapped in the dark,
Thinking, in the equatorial dark, of swimming tomorrow.
My love Chicago, not so safe.
We’re going to Jazz Showcase,
three blocks from our house,
Walking out together, my husband and me.
Maybe 30 degrees out, 7:30, winter dark.
Holiday lights, strings of them,
Still on trees, around the yards, not a
cloud, the lights bright, glitter and shine.
Crisp air, crisp lights. Haven’t been for a night walk
in ages. Here, I stroll alone only during the day.
We live a few blocks from a subway stop,
and in the nearby alleys, drug deals,
and guns to go with the sales.
As we walk, I remember Singapore, the unrelenting heat,
the generous nights, when I went around the city alone, sweating as if
bathing, unafraid. How welcoming, a city without guns. A city that
hugged me in the dark.