It’s early evening, it’s cloudy, but the world is bright like gold, and The Goddess of Wisdom bubbles as we pass the garbage dump, a crabapple in her hand, “It feels like a magic adventure now!” She smiles as she gnaws on that tart little ruby of life, “I feel like I’m ready to survive in the world.” There’s a jump in her step, she learned something her elementary school couldn’t teach: picking crabapples by the sludgy banks of the Saginaw River. Now she’s ready. These broken concrete roads are frothy as I walk beside my sister. Don’t forget the dandelions! I show her dandelions, but we don’t eat them – their leaves are infused with car exhaust. City foraging. It’s a tea party. “Has anything surprised you on our walk?” I ask. She sweeps her hand, “I didn’t know the city was so empty.” Here, before this city, were white pines as big as a house – but now the forest is gone and all that’s left is rust. Rust and tea parties, garbage dumps and dandelion wishes, pot holes and secret fruits, lead water and big gay brothers – this, little one, is what the world bestows upon you.
