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.
The sun sets over Long Island City.
The subway doors open and the dusky early twilight moves in.
Rarely do I take an elevated line,
Watch the thousand lives of this city expand into starlight beneath my feet.
It will be dark when I come out onto Classon Avenue,
One more walk until I cross the familiar corners that lead home.
The train sweeps under the tallest buildings.
I am one of a million souls on this night,
The dawn carries a different darkness.
The world holds its breath,
Ready to unfurl into the light.
Cities sleep, the pulse of the streetlights bright against the night.
Sun is coming, and within it I am alive.