Loss

Some days I fear the words fall from me, tumbling out of my fingertips onto and into dust without having made themselves useful in any way, without having created any sort of music, emptying their vowels and emptying reserves until I have nothing left to say - or no means by which to say it. He says he feels old, that he's ready for the quiet life, ready to produce something meaningful and I wonder if we are an entire generation pummeled into the ground where this pandemic was only the final nail in an already solid coffin. 

I sat in Bryant Park last night, watching another old movie as the skyscrapers lit up around us, a thousand New Yorkers cheering when the lovers found each other, when the villain got his dues, I know it can never be how it was and a great innocence has been taken from us but oh, when New York sparks the whole house comes down, the Empire's downfall be damned. 

I didn't fight in this pandemic, I see that now. See creatives unfurl their wings and fly on the hot air of struggle and I couldn't, but here's the thing. There's a tree growing on the 5th story brick ledge of the building across the street, it makes no sense, but it found a way to grow where it stands, here's the thing. 

When all the digging's been done, and we make our way out of this, I'll have so many legs to stand on there's no way I won't jump to the moon.