Day 3 of #the100dayproject

Rose City

All those years of awe for the city, my city.

Walking down the park blocks,

I watched protesters setting camp in the grass

under the cedars heavy with rain.

Occupy Wallstreet in the Pacific Northwest.

I would take the tram into the Pearl to find

abandoned warehouses turned into shoppes

and five-star bars and restaurants.

The bookstore on Burnside 

still rough on the outside, but inside

color and gloss to appeal to Raleigh Hill clientele.

I was a college girl who stopped at the smoke shop 

and leafed through the lit mags smelling of tobacco. 

I could never afford to buy any of them.

Now that I’m back, the store smells more like e-cigarettes 

than cigars, its windows broken by the riots,

boarded up by rain-soaked plywood.

I used to think anything was possible.

I used to find inspiration in the rain 

and in the graffiti on the brick buildings.

But now I realize ‘possible’ is anywhere I am; possible is in me.

When I left those years ago, I found what I was capable of.

I found myself to worship, day after day I built myself from the ground up. 

Nothing in life is easy, but when I visit an old place 

I look back at who I was and who I am,

and I’ve found that I’m always the sum of both parts.