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,
A thunderstorm has come calling tonight.
Curled in my little room, drops land on my windows,
Run rivulets on the fire escape.
I close my eyes and listen to the sound of the rain.
I cannot wait to see the rainbows in the mists of a tomorrow’s sunny morning.
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.
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.