Our City of Manifest Destiny

Who Knew Tulsa?

We reach for it, famished
an approximation
this kind desert
with insides blunted for the fast of will

it exists
ignited in the rising
buildings of clay
a city manifest

We did not know a thing in Tulsa.
But worthy elegance has treated our drainage.

Here, under the earth, which are memories?
Which art-treated?
Hipness and pit, which good taste?
We have found our city of opportunity.

It is said they damage their house in order to remain.
Opinion E: Undeniable aesthetics.

We have the goal of more elasticity
In order to give the impression of progress

The gift of the article is revolution
We cut ethical
It is the accumulation of demand we attempt to deny

We began to come with hunger
but close ourselves as soon as we think we will make it.

Tulsa. Who knew?




We were getting hungry and approaching Tulsa, Oklahoma so we thought we'd stop off for a quick bite at Subway or the like. We didn't know a thing about Tulsa, except that it existed. What we found was a town clearly on the rise; industrial-chic brick buildings encased galleries, shops and restaurants worthy of any major arts-concerned metropolis. But the vibe here, hipness and good taste notwithstanding, is unmistakably small-town. Tulsans could easily qualify as our nation's friendliest people.
By chance, we parked next to a store, Dwelling Spaces, that was having its grand opening party. The loftlike shop was smartly stocked with eclectic-modern doodads, whimsical Alessi kitchenware and T-shirts silk-screened "I'm down with T-town." The owner, Mary Beth Babcock, was living out a dream ("It was just time for this," she said) and provided tasty hors d'oeuvres from adjacent restaurants Tsunami Sushi and Blue Dome Diner. Jen and I bought some trinkets since we didn't think we'd easily be able to find stuff like this elsewhere.
We walked out to find a restaurant and passed the May Rooms Gallery, which seduced us in. The feel was the same as the rest of the neighborhood: industrial, lofty and undeniably aesthetic. The current exhibit, called Cuba 06, featured revolutionary propaganda posters, ethnic sculpture and moody black-and-whites of Castro. It's the collection of Milly Moorhead West, who was there regaling us with tales of her 20 trips to Cuba. She asked us where we were from; we told her.She asked us what we were doing here; we told her. She asked us where we were sleeping; we said good question. She said we should stay the night at her house. We were humbled by the offer -- here was that Southern hospitality we've all heard about -- but after thanking her, we told her that we were aiming to make more headway toward Texas.
Dinner, rather than Subway, was at James E. McNellie's, a happening neighborhood joint with all-American food, a pamphlet-length list of worldwide beers (Jen was excited to order her rarely found favorite, a Belgian brew called Leffe Blonde) and a talented band playing upstairs. We left full, happy and marveling at our good fortune for having stumbled upon Tulsa. Who knew?