I Am One Kind of Alive

This life wasn’t the plan.

Credit: Author

New York was how we liked it, dangerous and dirty, not the swept-up and mopped-down anesthetic it would soon become. We’d become the walking numb. It was gimme shelter before Scorsese ruined it. It was my mother’s arm caught between the subway doors all the way from Dekalb to 9th Avenue. It was her weaving her hands through my hair and it was me needing her. It was smashing glass…