"Detroit" was conceived 10 years ago after a very interesting conversation with Harriet Saperstein about the city of Detroit. After she left my house, the poem came to me as a whisper. She devoted 35 years of work to the architectural improvement of the city, and I was surprised and also very challenged about what my contribution would be in the coming years. At that time, I was not really sure how long I would stay, and my concern was to make a difference in my time here, that I would be able to develop as a person but also give back to the community. —Mariela Griffor
Detroit
by Mariela Griffor
When I drive down from
Grosse Pointe on Warren
a sudden knot in my heart
is born.
The solitude my soul
is roaming
with the images of
a city broken
and gone.
I cross my fingers
hoping I won't see
any black cats
crossing
steaming manholes.
Detroit full of churches
and where is God?
Could he be hidden
under politicians' coats?
A mon cher
looked through my car window
and he believed
he melted snow.
His eyes aflame
consumed two seconds
when the red light stops.
City in flames,
who took away your palaces
and gave you back
to a tribal pain?
It was not me,
I am a foreigner,
I just came to see.
Detroit wake up
from your profound sleep.
Build back your empire.
Build it back
so I can see.
Forget about
black LaKeishas
and your white Portias
forget about your yellow Chengs
and your brown Carolas.
Let the golden haze
that rusts on your aura
shine proudly
on your face again.
Let a feeling of goodness
grip the city as if in storm.
Let your dreams flourish and endure.
Turn the holy fight into
salutation.
Let the happiness return.
Leave your vinegar grief behind.
Let me see Detroit.
Let me see.
