Day 27 – Scars

Scars

I wonder why some days it hurts to write.

Why I am made of skin and sinew and muscle but my heart is such a fragile thing.

Why my joints complain on sunny days, why heat makes me want to run and hide in the cold wind.

I wonder why we break, and I wonder why our scars knit us whole again.

We fall apart, and fall together.

Day 23 – Feathers

Feathers

There is a small patchwork journal in my lap,

I climb flights of stairs to reach the roof.

The sky is is the kind of blue only poets see today,

The cherry blossoms, the rough tiles under my feet. 

Hearts of wood and water. 

These are things worth fighting for.

Day 20 – Fulton Street

Fulton Street

I know the sound of the streets in Manhattan,

My heart races with the G into the Brooklyn night.

I wonder why life is drawn in subway lines,

Where the heart is that these veins seek.

Who am I to map this corner of the universe,

My balcony a fire escape, to your views of the East River. 

I live in one city and hundreds at once.