San Francisco: A Poem

Photo of the golden gate bridge
Lisi Ludwig/Senior Staff

At the Marina, I stand, face against the 

Wind, which blows across the bay.  

I look towards the rolling waves 

That press against the ivory shore, 

And it reminds me of home. 

 

I turn, to face the doll houses 

Each painted a different color. 

Strung along the grid of streets  

Laced together by cable cars,

Looking sweet, like candy. 

 

In North Beach, I stop. 

For princess cake the color of sage 

That tastes like tea and almonds. 

I look towards the water again, 

From my station, among cement hills. 

 

I drive, across the golden bridge

And see the painted sky 

As hues of lavender grasp the rust.

To pull them closer, just before dusk  

My mind is clear, my heart is full. 

 

Towards the other side, I venture  

Nearing forests vast with redwoods,   

Where final rays of sunlight peak in 

To floors of moss and coastal growth 

Untouched for nearly a century. 

 

San Francisco watches over me, 

Cleansing me with gratitude. 

Bringing me peace, filling me with 

Warmth for a city which once felt cold. 

But now I look at it again, renewed.

Contact Katie Cota at [email protected].