Writers in the Attic: Apple

LOVE LETTER TO A CITY Amber Daley I didn’t expect to fall in love with you I’m an Idaho girl raised on farm-grown beets and sugar snap peas But one year after we were introduced my memories of you are just as sweet Oh golden, delicious, apple— Liza knew it well when she sang, “New York, New York”— to hold it on the tongue is to taste it twice Sweet even to the core your gaping Grand Central greets with promising skies before even stepping outside and the channels of hollowed earth beneath your metropolis hold delicious stories waiting to be told I long for the flavors I cannot photograph: The unsettling buzz of Chinatown with its fragrant, mysterious booths The steady rumble of the train beneath my feet The half breath of excitement caught in my chest upon glimpsing Manhattan’s skyline I think the street performers feel it, too A homeless musician’s desperate fervor cooks up sweat upon his brow His toothless grin and soiled garments betray skill But he is better than me, each day martyring himself before strangers because he will taste no other city’s fruit New York, New York I enjoy the quiet but thrilling zest of stepping into the crosswalk before the light turns green The cacophony of blaring taxi horns 96