The train to the storm was a hideaway.
The track would bend ‘round and fade away
And out of sight, the cars would screech,
Bound for darkness below one’s feet.
In the heart of a relentless thunder,
The storm would pass, over and under
And never would the pounding stop.
To see the stars one must look up.
The crowded street was a hideaway,
One that you must join if you want to stay.
Where the storm blows through the avenues
And sun drips through buildings like pulpy juice.
And filth turns the snow and the rain into mud
And small little pigeons replaced the white doves.
With that one crooked street that cuts right through the middle,
For when life got too heavy and real, for a little.
Escape for an hour and get out before night.
The glow from the storm will block out real starlight.
The eye of this storm is not blue, but green,
And people lay on nice blankets to eat.
The air from the storm still might steal from your lungs
But watch as the people still go on their runs.
And at least you can witness the scenery,
Find your moment of peace and maybe be free
From all of the noise and the lights, all the time.
The green square of fame, free from the grime.
But it doesn’t matter, hail or snow,
Rain or shine, warm or cold.
The storm won’t care what hits your skin.
It only cares about sucking you in.
It dresses up with its lights and its noise,
And its little escapes and its fancy toys,
And just because you hated it there
Doesn’t mean the storm will care.
It doesn’t care about your little life.
It passes each day and hands you a strife.
You feed it again with your money and chatter.
You could probably leave and it wouldn’t matter.
Replaceable, all of them, each foot in the snow,
Each building, each plaza, each fun little show.
But in the end, you stay just to see,
If the storm will help with your little daydream.
So perhaps the greatest hideaway was the storm all along,
With thousands of blocks stretching miles long.
It was easy to hide amidst thunder and light
And you filled empty spots that were darkest at night.
And though you can’t see stars and you still smell the grime,
You fell in love with the storm at a reasonable time.
So go to the storm and live your new dream
Because perhaps the storm isn’t as bad as it seems.
Danielle Jenkins's short play "Starstruck" won second prize in the Tenth Annual Humanities & Sciences Undergraduate Writing Contest. She is an Illustration Major at the School of Visual Arts. "I love telling stories through my visual and literary work," Danielle says. "In my free time, I enjoy reading novels from my sagging bookshelf and drawing comics."