bird by bird

[Foreword: I had this magical plan to write and publish this post on January 26th, my three year city-versary, while sitting in the Reading Room of the New York Public Library surrounded by great literature and New York writers. Buuuut then like 7 things went wrong, starting with the closing of the library 12 minutes after I got there.. and now it's a whole month later and I still haven't published. This is, most accurately, the story of my life. So now today, on my three year and ONE MONTH anniversary of moving to NYC, and I'm just going to share what I got. It's not remotely complete nor organized, but neither is my life here. So we deal.] .... When I think about how to cohesively write about the last three years of my life, the three years that I have spent living, loving, and learning in New York City, I am as overwhelmed as the first day I arrived here. Three years ago I woke up on a friend's friend's futon on the West side of Harlem with a foot of heavy

When I talk to people about ELM, what funny story she has told me or advice she has given me, I refer to her as "my... Emmy." I refer to her as "my... Emmy," with a pause after the possessive adjective because I question which noun should follow. The ellipses represent my search for the perfect word to describe her. What is she to me? She is the doctor for whom I work, the mother of children I babysit, the older sister I never had, and above all, the friend I'm so grateful to claim as my own. Though labeling our relationship is complicated, the relationship itself is simple: we love each other. My...Emmy spoils me with babysitting jobs and great birthday/Christmas gifts. She understands my financial restraints and is generous beyond belief, keeping me afloat financially and emotionally. My...Emmy listens to me whine about boys over happy hour cocktails, and on the night of my 27th birthday after I had celebrated too much and was exercising my right to &quo

By e.e. cummings who knows if the moon's a balloon,coming out of a keen city in the sky—filled with pretty people? (and if you and i should get into it,if they should take me and take you into their balloon, why then we'd go up higher with all the pretty people than houses and steeples and clouds: go sailing away and away sailing into a keen city which nobody's ever visited,where always      it's          Spring) and everyone's in love and flowers pick themselves