skyline
I watched a video that I directed for the, Where Hands Meet, series and wrote directly from observation – two hands dancing beautifully against the sunset. My pen navigated the mystery of love –unrequited or not – particularly as the sun was setting downtown. I saw each stanza form as I navigated each frame of their hands unfolding an unspoken love story right in front of my eyes. Location is relative in this poem, but I feel like it leaves room to each reader to insert themselves in the narrative. I want you to make the city your own.
Skyline by Anyah Jackson
How lucky are we
to find each other,
after we’ve been our
own worst enemies.
Forget the fallen tale
of star crossed lovers,
and notice the way the
New York skyline
greets the horizon.
The exhaust-filled streets
cloud my thoughts,
blur the vision of
you.
I can’t keep watching you
dance around the idea
of me. You fiddle with my
feelings like the strum of
a guitar
Your hand knows mine,
but I want to know
you, like 72nd street
knows the uproar of the
B-train.
I watch the rain
drown our reflection
in the puddles on the
pavement; where
underbellies of
rats scuttle through
the cracks.
Stampedes of feet
shuffle through the crosswalk;
Passing the mirage
of greens, yellows, and reds –
I overheard the traffic lights
on Sixth Avenue say:
the city was always theirs.