“Going up”, I smile
scooping her toddling legs onto my shoulders.

Her fingers grip
a week’s worth of whiskers.

As a grey March wind sweeps
yesterday’s transfers and ticket stubs
into the fault lines of an
unimportant West Loop sidewalk.

“Going up”, she smiles
as the elevator lifts us 103 stories.

Above dilated office windows
struggling for a glimpse of Manhattan.