New York is a strange land but the sirens are the same. Every night I listen to the police cars race around Brooklyn like I would watch the ambulance speed down the street towards the retirement homes that operate around my house.
New York is a strange land but when the summer rains come it smells the same. Maybe it’s because my school campus has so many trees, maybe it’s just because I miss home.
New York is a strange land but the grooves in the cement are the same. Some worn from time others because of neglect. Somehow though I don’t think that any of them are because of tree roots like in Tacoma.
New York is a strange land but The way I sleep is the same. Tossing and turning most nights, holding my bladder until the last possible moment only to leap from bed around 5am. It doesn’t seem to matter that the mattress at home is much more comfortable.
New York is a strange land but my time alone is the same. Just me and my thoughts, prayers, and words. It brings reassurance when this new world seems a little too different.
New York is a strange land but the way I sweat is the same. It’s hot just like home but the humidity and lack of smell of chlorine and sunscreen makes it different.
New York is a strange land but the cars are the same. The way they race towards you without a care that there may now be an extra speed bump in the road. It makes me miss driving at night with the windows down with not a care. Here I do have to care and the relaxation that comes with the night is gone.
New York is a strange land but living with others is the same. I know how to share a bathroom and kitchen with people but the warmhearted silence between family is missing.
New York is a strange land but my art is the same. Even if it feels more competitive now. Like I’m no longer the best out of my small circle.
New York is a strange land but my purpose is the same. Even if I’m not sure how to use it. It’s easier to help others when you hide behind a computer screen.
New York is a strange land but I’m starting to like it.