Dear Allison, Have I told you about the vines? They reach through the grey rock bricks on the left side of Crystal, on a corner apartment They rest off the blue line at the Damen stop. You turn right- out of the brown stained oak doors with the white trim- You walk right past the bloody mary's and that pretentious speakeasy Then there are only four more black ground intersections until Potomac, you must turn left then Crystal and the ivy: which reaches out towards her whose roots themselves only know where they are buried whose green shows through their brown wilting leaf edges They point my path, and point me always fleeting, they shudder my heart: their equal, their own kin growing out of my beige bricks- cracked and woeful yet still capable of shelter for the families in it's keep. The vines they show me the last length to her. They lead to her black iron gate before her doorstep.I dance and sway in the breeze, in soft orange hues as I wait thinking of them. I feel the vines straighten my back and they raise my chin. Sincerely, Nathan
Moving Forward is a new collaborative column between Nathan Dicken and Allison Maloney. The two best friends, separated by thousands of miles and full-time, “real people,” jobs seek the opportunity to remain connected through words and imagery. You’re invited to read along.