Embrace by Janie StapletonPoecology
Issue 5

Donna M. Davis

White City

I dreamed that I met you
on the iron pier near White City.
The fresh water gleamed under
columns of pale street lamps.
I boldly held your hand,
without knowing,
what you were to me.
We waltzed to the entrance
through a high stone arch,
not caring who saw us.

You wore a bowler hat
and a dark brown suit.
I wore a blue silk dress
with a frill at the hem.
We rode the Shoot-the-Chute
through clear lake spray,
feeling the cool wetness,
and kissed one time before
we said goodbye.

But I never held you in my arms
in that vanished city,
which once existed, and is now
an apparition few recall.
I was never born to see
the shimmering towers,
or the gate that led
to a realm of whiteness.
 
 
             White City was an amusement park on Onondaga Lake that closed its gates
              in the late 1930s after industry polluted the water.