Everything is open

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.