Letter from Detroit to One of Her Own

Dear Alana,

I am weary. I am tired. I feel as though a long winter’s nap might do my soul some good. I’m glad for your heartfelt apology—I wish others felt the same. I feel helpless and powerless as those in charge of me are charged with neglect and thievery. When will my people choose a trustworthy caretaker for me? How long will it be until I can sleep with both eyes shut? Your apology cannot change their hearts, though I wholeheartedly wish it could. I cannot trust anyone—every leader has let me down. What about the things I care about? My streets, my livelihood, my disenchanted youth? How long will they be ignored because of greed and thirst for power? Can you blame me for my weakness? They have devoured my strength and given my dignity away. Can you give me something to hope for? I would do anything for a little pride and a smile again! I’m not asking for the world—only this: give me something to live for again. Give me a reason to lift up my weary head. Please, please don’t leave. Don’t leave me here alone to fend for myself! My life is in your hands.

With love,

Detroit