You were the the distant skyline that ran across

the horizon of my identity. You were not my every

day, but the occasional Crumbs cupcake. An urban

adventure waiting to happen if only we crossed

the Hudson Bridge. The biggest, the best,

the grandest one in the world –

we called you The City. The city

all other cities were measured

against. Earth’s microcosm.

You were Wonderland, a mystical maze

of concrete and subway cars where

all the windows lit up at night

with the life of embers floating

off a dumpster fire. I could step back in time

or around the world, see the handiwork

of the greatest artists that ever lived,

hear musicians jamming on the streets, taste

food that I would normally need a plane to get.

You were my dad’s career, and my mom’s

driving nightmare. You were the accent

I never quite picked up. Broadway

was imagination personified –

an explosive display of colored lights,

belted high c’s, and complex

choreography, – a ticket to anywhere.

You were my favorite soundtrack

that I had to be careful not to listen to

so much that I got sick of it.

You were the book that easily slid off

my shelf time and time again.

You were the drink that lit up

my taste buds like the 4th of July

fireworks, but that I had

to sip so it wouldn’t burn my throat.

You were my childhood treat,

my career dream, my extrovert friend

that dragged me out of the house

every now and then. You were

my possibility, my potential,

my inspiration. You were my city.

The greatest city in the world.