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.