Walking to Chicago
Bex Greenberg
Bex Greenberg
We’re going to walk to Chicago.
Sun beaming down on our flyaway hair,
we wade through waves of fresh cool water.
She doesn’t like the sand that sticks to her sweaty hands so she wants to walk to Chicago.
Screeching at the frigid water reaching our bellies,
the sun joins our laugh to warm
our tiny bodies, and our ginormous minds.
We need to walk to Chicago.
There’s no sand in Chicago.
Only cars and streets and towers.
But first we need to walk through this lake.
Then we will reach up with our arms
on our tippy toes
and try to touch the tops of the tallest buildings.
We walk and walk,
yelling our goodbyes to our family behind us on the shore.
Deeper and deeper, halfway to the sandbar.
Almost there.
Then the water reaches my little sisters chin.
Head tilted to the clouds,
like a sunflower at noon.
She still wants to walk to Chicago.
The lake begins to spill into her water colored eyes
it almost looks like it belongs there
but it scares me.
I take her warm hand and pull it back.
Back towards shore, back towards mom.
No Chicago for today.
My sister is too little.
Maybe next year, I know sunflowers can grow very tall.
Sun beaming down on our flyaway hair,
we wade through waves of fresh cool water.
She doesn’t like the sand that sticks to her sweaty hands so she wants to walk to Chicago.
Screeching at the frigid water reaching our bellies,
the sun joins our laugh to warm
our tiny bodies, and our ginormous minds.
We need to walk to Chicago.
There’s no sand in Chicago.
Only cars and streets and towers.
But first we need to walk through this lake.
Then we will reach up with our arms
on our tippy toes
and try to touch the tops of the tallest buildings.
We walk and walk,
yelling our goodbyes to our family behind us on the shore.
Deeper and deeper, halfway to the sandbar.
Almost there.
Then the water reaches my little sisters chin.
Head tilted to the clouds,
like a sunflower at noon.
She still wants to walk to Chicago.
The lake begins to spill into her water colored eyes
it almost looks like it belongs there
but it scares me.
I take her warm hand and pull it back.
Back towards shore, back towards mom.
No Chicago for today.
My sister is too little.
Maybe next year, I know sunflowers can grow very tall.
//
Bex is a senior theatre major at the Lehigh Valley Charter High School for the Arts. She has not had a lot of experience sharing her writing, but hopes to start sharing more of her work.
Bex is a senior theatre major at the Lehigh Valley Charter High School for the Arts. She has not had a lot of experience sharing her writing, but hopes to start sharing more of her work.