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  • By Evan Schmitt

Chicago


Upon the platform, boots caked in black ice,

a cloying gesture, stand there on the salt.

I dare not stray, confess my only vice:

your hand, the key, my heart’s a sacred vault.

Entwined like flickering jewels upon the crown

we vanish like a vamp into the lake.

Snuffed flames against the waves we plummet down

and clutch the harbor’s edge until we ache.

We are treasure, we are rum run below,

a target for St. Valentine, I fear.

No god nor man can melt this falling snow

so twist, green river, push my lover near.

Steel and stone together rise from fire.

Crystals freeze the tears from my desire.


Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons


Evan Schmidtt is a writer, creative director, and instructor working in Los Angeles and Nashville. She has a background in comedy from The Second City in Chicago and holds a BA in Writing and Producing for Television from Columbia College Chicago. Her lecture, "How to Write Female Characters," has been presented at Columbia University in New York.

5 則留言


未知的會員
2023年4月07日

Splendid marriage of sense and sound, the passion of love with the reason of metrical logic.

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ajsedia
2023年3月12日

Having spent most of my life in or around Chicago, the poem conjured up an all-too familiar winter scene very much alive to me. It is beautifully contrasted with the inner feelings expressed. I also appreciate the "double entendre" metaphor of St. Valentine's day. Excellent work.

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stewart.burke
2023年2月22日

I forwarded this fine sonnet to a friend who shares my love of the city. I particularly enjoyed this line: "We are treasure, we are rum run below, a target for St. Valentine, I fear." As they say in Chicago, "Vote early, vote often!"

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evaneliz
2023年2月22日
回覆

Thank you for sharing!

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ddouthat09
ddouthat09
2023年2月14日

Nice Elizabethan sonnet.

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