Let the re-posting begin!

This is the first poem I wrote after we moved to NYC in the summer of 2006. Where is the sticky, nasty, fabulous, city summer now?

The city is shiny and grey today, joyously shedding the heat of the past few weeks like a sticky second skin. I am green and reckless. I am a dog. I am Lola. My mouth open, my tongue dragging along the floor, my fur speckled with cool water, shaking myself awake and rolling in puddles. My fingers itch to touch the ground, to displace the steam escaping from the sidewalk and leave a shadow finger footprint on the day. My belly longs to stretch itself out on the sidewalk, inching it's way to relief from the heat, breathing in the pulse and purpose of the concrete and earth beneath my skin.

I will find the tallest building and climb up to the roof and happily chase my tail in the rain, reveling in the memory of fireworks and friendships on a perfectly lovely yesterday, eagerly anticipating the unraveling of stories tomorrow. Renewed, restored, rewired, reminded. There is power in metaphor.