I, too, am a City

    I am a city kneeling at the watering hole, like so many  cities on this continent. I grow awkwardly at this spot, slithering up the mountains that contain me. My arms extend over the lake, crossing to the other shore where I spread my fingers. My legs lay in the valley between two lines of mountains, my spine a highway bordered with high-rises. Here and there a warm patch erupts, an old farm left over from when I was still a child.

    I have brothers and sisters who also drink from this body of water, our lips sucking at a sea-monster’s realm. Our nourishment is the same, but I am somehow better. I know this because my siblings send their people to me daily, to receive food and education and treatment for their ills. It’s not because I was better that they started coming; no, it’s because they started coming that I became better than my siblings. And I am content in this.

The End

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