one city
one poet
one voice & one love letter
It took me a long time to call myself a writer.
Even longer to put ‘poet’ next to my name.
Back then, Rosanna Deerchild didn’t even exist.
And if not for this place, none of it would have even happened.
After graduating from my town’s only high school in 1992, I packed up my suitcase and jumped on a Greyhound bus headed for the City. That’s what they called it up north.
I’m moving to the City, people would say as if they were off to see the Wizard.
Many would not return, having successfully left it behind.
Some would come back, slightly wild-eyed with stories of wild city.
Others would just disappear, eaten by the sharp streets, swallowed down dark alleys.
