Wayfarer: A poem

I am on my way

The path is familiar

But foreign

I am alone,

But one with the city

I am a stranger

But I am at home

The towers they feed me

The skyline fills my lungs

With sweet breath

Sweet release

High above me: sparkling silver monoliths

Below me: concrete, rocks, a lost Metro card

Grates, sirens

the chuff of a city bus

The rumble of trains

beneath my feet

It is music

No words need come

The song is around me

In me

Carries me

I am on a journey

to me

Away from me

To a better me

The me I once thought I’d be

The me I forgot I was

The cabbies insult

Swindle me

The air is noisy

Crackles

When you inhale

I am conspicuous

Invisible

As I make my way down Park Avenue

Sleek storefronts

Windows iridescent

All the way to the Niederlander alone

Without a map

Without looking up

Pretending

I live nearby

and am simply out for a stroll

Off to see a friend in a show

I pretend

but I am

fooling no one

I am a tourist

Ah, there it is

That dirty little word

You see,

No matter how many times

I hail a taxi from LaGuardia

In my smart black slacks and heels

And my soft grey turtleneck

And the plaid scarf I bought in the Village

with the tiny Louis Vuitton bag

slung over my shoulder like a prize

like a ticket for entry

No matter how many times

I step out of the cab onto 58th

Looking for the chocolate shop that I love

That isn’t there any more

I am reminded

I am not here to blend in

I know this

I am here

to be me

Be somebody else

Be who I want to be

Wear the city like a coat

I am here to breathe it all in

The startling crisp air

The teetering heights

The urban cacophony

The hum, the crush, the whir

The glorious madness

I am here to take it

Take it all

as much as I can

and hold it tight

Before I go home

Breathless and beatific

In a cab ride back to LaGuardia

Storing it all up

For another year’s worth

of dreams

photo by joan

this poem was born at the writing circle