In hot sunshine’s last gleaming
it rests, this nod to the past, this
hope to a future that didn’t happen
except in imaginations, and dreams,
but it sits nonetheless, a stately repose
as its necklace of pods carry us
upward to look east to the past
to look west to the past,
to look down at the present, and
though it rests we sense
a restlessness, or the movement
of the river below.
Photograph: Core of Discovery St. Louis.
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About stlouisisapoem
We live in this poem called St. Louis, a poem we're still writing. It's about history, and art, and politics, and business, buildings and streets, rich and poor, and food (of course), and all of the other things that make this city what it is and what it will become.
We publish poems about St. Louis, and you're invited to contribute via the comments to posts (for now, until we get our communications organized). Send us a link or an email address, and we'll respond.
Help us write the poem that is St. Louis.
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