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Sky-high stilettos echoed on the sparkling Mica sidewalks
of 70s New York, under dim yellow streetlamps
by CBGBs and the Russian baths. Oblivious to rats
scampering nearby, each beckoning corner led to a promise
of the newly possible.
This city of dreams and sorrows held me in its smoggy dome,
as the twin towers lit the starless night and seemed forever
the north star. Reaching the pinnacle, I twirled on the rooftop
dance floor of Windows on the World, adrift under a singular sky
that held me like a cocoon, vowing that I was special. I would soar.
The guru, the venture capitalist, and the Kabbalist communed
as the 80s burst forth from the sheer curtains of fire-escaped
brick. Yoga cohabited with a cocaine-infused bar scene, technology
reached in with a steely grip, and an old infrastructure crumbled.
I clung to a tattered shawl of illusion – exposed, transformed,
even beautiful now. Defined and undefined, molded
and undone, wandering through an inferno of exploding steam,
lost loves, irredeemable vertigo. Another future called –
and it was time to go.
Still, the soul of that nascent woman haunts those fickle streets,
heels keeping step with the cacophony of horns.
Loves and losses wrapped in the jangle of wild auburn hair.
Forever wandering – in the newly possible.
After many years working in Manhattan corporate life, Bonnie Perkel changed course but kept writing. She has an M.Ed. and spent several years working at Duke University Press in North Carolina before settling in the Boston area. Over the years she has been an educator/administrator, academic advisor, and editor, and she has published in anthologies and academic/trade publications.
THE CITY KEY 