Like I watch Sex and the City,
I grew up, growing up
in the city.
I grew up in a smaller steel town,
but I always went dahntahn.

Season tickets bought me the Northside weekly,
when the nippy fall and winter weather brewed.
Impending university years
bought me Oakland biyearly,
craving Primaniti’s cheesesteaks
bought me Strip District monthly,
and needing a dress for homecoming
bought me South Side a few times.

I loved the lower level boroughs
of the blue-collar metropolitan,
but I always found myself
begging my parents,

“Please take me up there.”

Aunt Sherry lived up there,
but one mile too far.
I was a child.
I wasn’t permitted to explore alone.
I stayed on Albert Street.

Finally, I wasn’t a child
and we rode that rusty mountain climber
from dahntahn.
We walked onto the concrete edge,
held by none other than the steel
that the city was notorious for.

Northside, Strip District to the left of us,
Oakland, South Side to the right,
the brown and silver buildings stood,
the highest of the skyline—
hulk and daunting from ground level,
but up there,
we were as tall.

By Ashley Grego