another poem about new york city

as something half-human, beastlike and
breathing steel. three weeks ago i write from inside the bedroom
of my aunt and uncle’s apartment, behind a black-veiled
window. shrieking sirens sound like bludgeoned birds;
constellatory airplanes twinkle; red flashing bulbs
blink hello at me across the horizon.

i spend two days here and
while i traverse this gray-bitten
world of dreamers (the poets & artists,
playwrights & curators, politicians & stationers),
a thought occurs to me, wakes me from my reverie.
boils in my blood as i traverse this vast sea of people,
as i feel oh so small among the (in)famous &
& immigrants & twenty-somethings & everyone else
who pass me on crisscrossing streets.

this thought nags at me beneath the shadows of skyscrapers.
follows me home by train and lurks in an abandoned, half-shaped
poem formed on my phone. remains lodged in my head when
one week later, returning to pennsylvania soil, i glimpse
pictures of an alternate, more monstrous new york.
a city plagued by dystopian orange smoke
and an unsettling (un)reality.

i miss the warmth of the sun on my skin.
          i miss the warmth of the sun on my cheeks.
                   i miss the warmth of the sun to remind me
                           that the earth is here, that the earth is alive.

​

like Me. like You. like All Of Us.