Lost Footage

By Hannah Andrews

In the summer that followed the summer of love
Sweet Chicago smoldered, 
Ensconced in ashes
Left dreamless over a lost King
Hopeless after another lost Kennedy

And yet, amidst a seeming apocalypse
In that slow-broiling chaos of ‘68
Boy met girl as they are prone to do 
And together 
Tumbled into
Something akin to, in the neighborhood, of love.
 
In a neighborhood flanked by barricades and batons
Autumn blew unrest anew
Chicago’s shame was broadcast for the world to see while
She tried to corset away the secret of impending me
For even in an imploding world,
I was the worst thing that could have happened
 
Determined to deny it was happening
My grandparents to never be, tossed her, like garbage, into the
Winter, whereupon she found refuge in a home
Built on benevolence and
Filled with girls like her
Built for girls like her by an Army called Salvation
Who took payment in the flesh to be, the promise of me
 
My first breath was my last with her,
When I came screaming into a chaotic world
All alone into the world
On the cusp of spring, as
She, in surrender, found redemption
Her sins absolved with a signature
That erased all I may have, who I may have, been
 
Fifty-odd summers have passed
And still, I search, scrolling eagle-eyed through
Archival footage, for a face that mirrors mine
Through Chicago’s most documented year,
For my only undocumented year

For somewhere in that history
Is the history of he, of she, of me
And so I click 
And so I scroll
And so I remain
Forever stuck
In the summer that followed the summer of love

Hannah Andrews lives and writes in San Diego. Her work has been published in a couple local anthologies there including “Shaking The Tree, Vol 5: But I’m Still Here,” and the 2024 edition of “A Year in Ink,” as well as a few online publications.