I don’t know if I’ll live amongst your grit and high rises, again. I adore juxtaposition; gorgeous garbage like Debbie Harry once said. Walking and ringing a citi bike’s bell, panting at the peak of the bridge, I used to yell. When a train roared by — Blurry Brooklyn people. Something had changed. Was it me? You — Or does new become old and sometimes old, no longer fit? Yet always stands still.
There has been a call to walk amongst the wild things. Not the wild nights, like when I was twenty five to thirty two. Miami. LA — I will neither forget you. Cities I have loved and left. All pieces of me like a jigsaw puzzle. Though I hate puzzles. Somehow completing them creates borders like the burbs — Suburbs. Secrets they can never keep. The city is good at keeping secrets.
Sometimes we think there’s nothing more when there’s a world breathing, waiting for us to walk through her doors — in the thickness of her trees. Rivers and lakes. Overseas. The mystery of a lover we have yet to meet. On a dusty desert road. Crickets singing us to sleep. I stand before the mountains now as I once beheld your sky. Line. I remember the long bathroom waits while the girls did their own — lines.
There was a feeling of being so small and yet in the most awe of her majesty, New York. A life that rubs off on you in the dark rooms filled with jazz, glasses clinking, whispers of anticipation. You can smell it at the subway stops — variety. Different colors on the sidewalks. Rose colored glasses donned by a newbie. So fresh. Love at first sight. Dancing on Ave A, underground. Hours and hours past midnight.
New York, New York will you hold my secrets tight? While I sip this new New. New Mexican delight.
Medicinal Conversations 