New York
is a heartbeat;
my heartbeat,
as the electric subway flies
down the tracks
like a silver strike
of lightning.

I have a yellow strand of 
crepe paper
wrapped around my neck, 
a string of sunshine fighting
the glow of Times Square around my shoulders,
free souvenir of
SpongeBob the musical,
a giddy throwback to
age 7,
when I lived in a city.

I never lived in New York,
only Boston,
with its maze of streets,
the corner store walking distance,
ice cream bars in the sticky
heat of summer.
New York is more methodical
than this.

Methodical,
but sleepless,
we eat pasta across from the hotel
minutes before midnight,
I don't understand the language
the patrons at the table
behind us speak,
but it's an odd sense
of peace to not be alone in the restaurant. 

The next morning,

My skin yearns for the sideways kiss
Of morning sun for
Lake droplets lifted
Off my skin by balmy,
Dandelion air.

And my laughter
Waits for dock picnics
Green mountain tops
And crowded swimming pools. 

Nose searching for
Watermelon slices
Garden herbs
Almost tasting
Backyard barbeque.
I await summer's joyous greeting.

But when it comes,
I will reminisce over  
Red-tipped noses  
Too rich hot chocolate
Cross country skis
And silver flurries. 

Wait for crisp air
Warm socks and sweaters
For soup and fireplaces. 
So is the seasons' curse.

Don't wait for summer
For snow
For red leaves 
Or flowers sprouting.

Venture out and discover
The unique season
That is today. 
 

My best friend needed a place to live,
so as if they were a lost puppy,
i asked my parents if we could keep them.
and my parents signed the papers.

then they used my outstretched arms like rubber bands--
twisted, tied, and shot them back at my face.

I watched my household go from a four to seven person home,
we turned four bedrooms into six,
and for my entire high school career i almost never had my own,
it always seemed like my parents had a revolving door,
but somehow it got slammed far too many times to count.

My mother taught me how to take care of everybody.
I learned random acts of kindness, and empathy,
I remembered to keep extra of anything in my bag: tissues, granola bars, ibuprofen, hugs, forgiveness.

Forgiveness and some more forgiveness.

For as far as my memory reaches back i had been led to believe that my purpose on this damned planet was to serve others,

All of it folds together like a paper airplane,

You live your life unfolding new pieces of paper,

Except the paper is a new light

Guiding you through life.

You have to take the bad things and fold them into place,

You have to accept the intolerable things that you have done

You must fold them away,

Saying farewell.

You have to fold every year that passes

And unfold a new year

Saying goodbye to the past,

And saying hello to the present.

Every fold you make is a part of your life forever

Except the fold is a decision or memory.

You will remember every fold you make,

Thinking about how it made an impact on your life.

You will teach others how to fold their paper airplanes,

Having them learn from your mistakes.

And when we start to live our final days.

Join YWP and writer Mindy Wong for the first in a series of Writing on the Roof workshops this Saturday! Grab one of the last seats for an inspiring morning! Sign up here! 
WORKSHOP #1: THE "I" IN MEMORYSCAPE with MINDY WONG
WHEN: Saturday, Jan.19, 10 am - 11:30 am

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