Late night insomnia in
la ciudad that never sleeps is a gift.
I slip between the dusk, waltzing
weaving between hum of streetlamp.
Twirling in shadows and
embellishing myself in
wandering imaginations. Already the
perfect tune pulses within my veins.
Street vendors mingle, Compre este.
Already seeing our fingers
handing over the clang of coins,
their voices unpeeling the city.
The bitter aroma of coffee wraps around
late night strollers who drift like
migrating birds. Maneuvering through the
cervices of sidewalks, drifting aware
and unaware—fringes of reality;
I am a lone girl in her best attire,
the satin slippers feeling
the paved gravel beneath my toes.
Each stone, another reminder that
vortexes can suffocate.
Trying to take in the view of the world
without leaving the center. Artist eyes scanning
the scene and cinema whirling in my brain.
Keys in my lap like something to forget.
Tracing murmurs of lips and catching
phrases like fireflies as I walk up the hill,
the kind that makes legs burn when biking up.
Hair tousled with the rush of el metro with
the scent of ashen gray clawing onto my coat
Eyes closed for a brief glimpse but
all together
missing too much.
Ellen Zhang is a freshman at Harvard University. Besides being published in The Albion Review, Teen Ink, Creative Kids, Cuckoo Quarterly, and other magazines; she has received national recognition from the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards.
Photo Credit: https://www.flickr.com/boklm/
