2 AM. January. Harlem.
Ran from subway exit
five blocks north to 155th
Snow flew into our faces,
froze our breath in our lungs
Still flushed from the bar,
we were young and new and felt it.
I cut my finger on the rusty
metal door to the roof
It was so cold I didn’t
realize I was bleeding
The air tasted so clean,
the sun sliced through the cold.
I was young and new
and felt invincible.
Home was a place
waiting for me
Home was a place
I carried inside me.
narinda heng 