Poetry
The Strait
A Detroit poem

Reports of Detroit’s demise have been greatly exaggerated.
Save your pity. Your coddling. Your disdain.
Shed no tears for this city.
Drenched in a heritage of grit, Of invention, Of pain.
Of promise, Where citizen refugees flocked To begin again.
Of injustice, Of freedom — Last stop for the Underground train.
Of labor, Of wheels Built in the fast lane.
Of music, And art, A rhythmic refrain.
Once opulent, Now tired and worn. Turned urban from urbane.
Yet it’s strong. A muscle grown powerful With resistance and strain.
Balancing violence and pragmatism. Poverty and creativity. Anger and kindness. Despair and innovation. Death and rebirth.
A strait, but never narrow, harbor, Nor unwelcoming, Nor prone to complain.
Shed no tears for this city… For resilience is true beauty revealed.
The word “Detroit,” named by French settlers, means “The Strait.”
© Tina L. Smith, 2020
About the author: Tina L. Smith is a Detroit-area native whose Detroit roots run deep. She is drawn to frequent visits to a city she finds beautiful, inspiring, and extraordinarily friendly.
