a walk along the mississippi

june 02, 2025

i walked along the mississippi river this morning. i didn’t know the mississippi came up this far north. it was frozen solid this winter. saw people set up ice fishing tents along its banks. and now she flows sweetly, humming a song of new beginnings.

i’m not the only one walking. this neighborhood is buzzing and alive. i see a few joggers, a man walking with a crutch and a cane. i see a black woman in sweats and a long gray, robe-like cardigan. trying to convince her dog to potty so she can go back inside. it’s not warm, it’s not cold, it’s perfect.

there’s a bridge made of iron, the road on this side of the river is made of stones. i want to call them cobblestone but not every road made of stone is cobblestone right? there is a bridge made of iron connecting the two sides of the river. it reminds me of a backdrop in a romantic comedy, where two lovers would have met in secret to share a look, a touch, a kiss. i miss kissing.

i see more black people, i feel apart of community. i see two friends walk into a restaurant that’s advertising saturday brunch. i see a black man order coffee at the coffee shop. i see me.

there’s graffiti on the walls of a stone arch bridge, i don’t know what the letters and words mean but there’s a level of character and meaning. as always there is a story being told.

there’s a man wearing a sweater that looks like something carl winslow from family matters would have worn. we pass each other, i look at him, he says hello, i smile and say “i really like your sweater.” he giggles. i think about that giggle all day.

i toured an apartment on this river a few days ago, it was perfect. i don’t know if it will be mine. i’m still exploring what i like, what i want and sometimes i just can’t tell what i want, what i like and that makes me cry. that i don’t know, that they never asked, and sometimes, they didn’t care. and now i am thirty and one and i am learning these pieces of myself. “i will ask you makhela, i will care” i tell my inner child who is always listening.

there are couples walking along the river. some are holding hands, some holding waists. there are birds and flowers trying to bloom. dramatic clouds and laughter from friends. there’s a minstrel playing an accordion. i only have a dollar, i smile, wave and give him that dollar. there is a tree marked “in memory of chelsea ann langhans 1990-2015” there were people who loved this person, who wanted strangers to know she was loved. i am a stranger who knows her name and knows she was loved. you now, are a stranger who knows she was loved.

.m