Tompkins Square Park is full on a sunny Saturday, cherry blossoms spilling out over the sidewalks and benches crowding like the past year didn't happen at all. We eat pizza and drink beer, stretching out legs exhausted by the morning. A whole life packed up, brought down two flights and brought up three. I live here now, you see yourself write, but the words don't mean anything yet. The helicopters are louder here, the sky so wide and present. The night too late for curtains, you lie in bed gazing out at it. I live here now.
You do not know yet what any of this means. You placed this home in your heart a long time ago and now it is here, what strange miracle is that?
The thing about miracles is,
Once you've seen one,
You start to believe they can happen everywhere.
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