On the Williamsburg Bridge


The clouds were outside
I was inside
a cage

The sun cut through the clouds
a glowing sword
trembling bars

Casting grill mark shadows
on my skin

On the outside
the clouds parted

I was never safe
inside this cage

The sun sliced through
sizzled my retinas
cauterizing its fate

I never thought
the last thing I’d see
was your return to prison.

Different Things

What I’ll miss: Diversity
When I was a freshman at BYU back in 19-freaking-94, I walked the campus and overhead a maelstrom of conversations in various languages. I looked to the origins of these foreign sounds: German and Spanish and French and other tongues I didn’t recognize. I was slightly confused, because I expected to see people who “looked” German and Spanish and French and Asian and Middle-Eastern and whatever else. But I didn’t. Times have changed since then, but I know that campus, when I step foot on it once again, still won’t even compare to my little, overpopulated, foul, fast-moving, electric, refreshing, inspiring melting pot.

What I won’t miss: That bass beat up in Washington Heights
If you’ve ever been to that neighborhood, you’ll know what I mean. You’ll know what I mean. It comes from some apartment buildings, but more often it comes from car stereos. And that’s much worse, because it has the potential to follow you. Also, whoever is driving the car with that beat blaring from the subwoofers, pulsing the entire car – from the windshield to the tailpipe – even to the adjacent cars, needs some sort of justice meted out, like flogging, or soft rock.  If I never hear that rhythm again it will be too soon.