My city is easy to fall in love with,
its color, its waste, even the scent of smoke and honey roasted peanuts
which I despise;
it makes me think of ice cream now.
I go downtown
in the heat of the day
and I disappear into the drifting crowds
the city has held me in its
open palms,
its hands are spread wide open
to face the sky.
I am a piece of the
landscape. I am the surge of students
and another girl
with messy hair, skinny jeans, and
a hat with chai tea
balanced in one hand
while I jot down these words
into my phone with the other.
Today I have stolen time and I
stop by the poems
and read a few,
let the words sink in,
let them
speak from the past from
the dirt on the ground from
1945 and years more forgotten. It is
exquisite, this watching, like they are a gallery
full of life and I am drowning in
their beautiful artistry.