St Johns Place
It is so quiet when the Franklin Avenue shuttle rolls past,
I push pause on a week’s troubles and sit here, my voice small and relaxed.
It is 1pm and Brooklyn streets are just beginning to wake up,
The sun shines between buildings and it feels good to let the warmth kiss my skin.
It is peaceful to seek out my calm again.
I remembered today
How it feels to ride into the sunset with the radio on
I miss the days of flying, when I didn’t have to rely on my sense of direction and my feet to carry me home.
Brooklyn is different from the driver’s seat.
I walk through the turnstile,
In front of me an MTA attendant is on the phone.
He laughs a big belly laugh; deep and true and I can’t hear it but I can feel it deep in me
I know I am covered in snow and he is a man at work,
But for a moment the world laughs for me,
In the chaos.
My eyes find the sky over the Brooklyn bridge and I am, again
Writing another love letter to this city,
To the changes,
To the stratigraphies it has shown me,
To the Lower East Side, to Classon Avenue in the snow.
This world will break you if you let it.
You hold me up over troubled waters.
Lead me home tonight.
August In July
It is my favorite part of the summer.
The air gets chilly at night,
Like fall is reaching out the window and blowing kisses onto my cheeks.
I watch the sun set over Classon Avenue.
The street is quiet as Sunday mornings,
The moon shines on my back as the sun sinks beneath the skyline.
It gives me my life, it gives me my words.
For the first time in a long time, I find myself writing.