My Lady From the D

I see her every day. As my car grumbles and screams along the rusty tracks, I'm pulled out of the earth and over the river. As the outside world peels open building by building, beam by beam, each racing past my face, she appears. In my sights, far off in the distance as a proud silhouette standing firm in the heavy streams of honey colored morning-rays, or as a faint and blurred vision ever present, floating in a world of mist and rain, she's there. I see her at night too; holding strong, determined forward. Like a dwarfed yet commanding maestro at the feet of giants, she maintains her authority in all her majesty at the gates of a resonate and supreme beast of a city. As she gracefully glides behind the downcast webs of splayed cable, outstretched by twin giants of fabled stone, it's not long before she begins her retreat behind the beast. Her exit is soft as the buildings tackle above. My car slips back into the earth and the outside world topples and folds in above and around me. I find myself submerged in the angry intestines of the city, suddenly reminded of the intimate nature of my transport. My focus pulls inward and I reflect. She's always there; in the gnashing cold, in the oppressing heat, in wind, in rain, she stands tall and strong, always moving forward, lighting our way. She's there. And I see her every day.