I’m writing to you from the soft green blanket of clean grass at Bryant Park. Nestled up against the New York Public Library’s main branch, Bryant Park is an ice skating rink in the winter and lawn oasis in the summer. Right now its still spring, there are long sleeves and pants, bikinis and bare chests, but most of all there are people, out and about after a long, metropolis style hibernation. Strains of the winsome carousel blow in the breeze behind me, above the long lawn littered with bodies are the trees and their fresh, new leaves.
More from the political poet this week, keep checkin in!