New York, New York

My final today in creative writing class was simple. We could write poetry or prose about whatever we wanted - person, place, or thing. Naturally, I chose New York. I really liked my final result. It's not as deep as poems usually are, but I liked it.

dark cement, lingering with the traces of people

a tall ballerina leaving an audition

a buisnessman carrying a briefcase

a lonely, aged man searching for refuge

a swirl of yellow speeds by

horns honking in agitation

a man drops a penny face up

another man bends down to retrieve it

the sky is darkening, the sun is waving goodbye

 tall buildings are hiding the moon

bright lights are blocking the stars

but those same bright lights serve as their own stars

people walk home with heavy shoulders and tired eyes

some holding hands

some looking down

all looking weathered

but in their weathered bodies live city dreams

of hot dogs on the corner

of cozy lofts high above the busy streets

of "hole in the wall" diners and the "worlds best cup of coffee"

this place is an art form

with its own language

its own colors

its own religion

this place is New York

New York, New York

*these pictures were taken two summers ago when my family and I went to New York City