Up here the city is a stack of blocks
half-built by a bored kid
too old for such toys.
Up here we watch electric evening
tangle across the valley,
a string of faulty Christmas lights.
But think of all the lives down there.
The petty fights,
the slicing of carrots, the steam rising.
The muttered quick prayers,
the illicit pre-dinner chocolate
and all the work clothes still in piles
shed like old skins
and all the lovers asking
your same impossible question.
Christina Lee is a poet and teacher living in Pasadena. She holds an MFA from Seattle Pacific, and her work can be found in The Toast, Hoot, Relief Journal, and Ruminate Magazine. She was chosen to attend A Room of Her Own’s writing retreat this summer.