Grace McGowan ’26
in a place not so far away:
unruly divots of metal and glass strain towards the sun;
deep grooves, intersecting lines drawn in dirt long ago;
a tangle and tumble of roots underfoot, threaded together in knots and strands.
life teems at all hours relentlessly,
it is inescapable:
voices like bumblebee hums
blasts of wind through hidden holes in the ground;
wafting scents of weed and warm honey-roasted nuts.
it is a concrete forest of dreams and magic and wonder,
of a certain type of bioluminescent electricity,
an ever-growing sense that there is nowhere quite like this.
there is progress; one step forward, another seed takes root.
perhaps there is a step backwards, perhaps the seed withers before breaking the surface,
but it can be planted again.
and yet life does not screech to a halt like the cars do:
yellow and black taxi cabs transporting precious cargo;
bodegas on street corners and the rattle of subways on their rails,
steam billowing from funnels in a hazy fog of commuters,
the brownstones and brick,
a not-so-secret garden,
a thriving biome.