In New York
In New York, I stand atop the shining silver realization
Of a metal empire scraping the soul of the sky.
The mountains are invisible, hiding in scattered shadows.
They tell me to see the world— and yes, there is life
In this city darkness, these synthetic stars and signs,
When you call it blurry wilderness to satisfy the mind,
But I want a different light.
The voice of the air refuses to be silenced,
Carrying nature songs from the ground.
Take a picture of me with the wind in my hair.
by Brittany Menjivar, age 16