"if cities were people"
Nairobi,
she’s the girl who taught me how to drink,
taught me to take it slow and to appreciate water.
She wasn’t the first to whisper booze in my ear
but something about the roadrash scuffing her limbs,
how she wore trash like it was art,
and her trilingual laugh
lowered my inhibitions.
London,
she’s the midafternoon one night stand
I can’t quite shake out of my heart.
Tokyo,
I’m not even going to talk about Tokyo;
she was too much for me.
The first thing she told me was she’s got a history
and she was proud of that.
Seattle,
he’s the rain-eyed boy next door
who is afraid of my mother even though he’s always
been bigger.
Portland,
she calls me daughter,
thinks she holds me closer than Clark Gable holds perfect kisses,
when really I’ve always grown best at her fingertips
not in her heart;
but thanks for leaving the key under the mat anyway
so I can always let myself back in.
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