Familiar sidewalks welcoming somehow familiar snowflakes
Each snowflake bearing its own identity as I stare out of my living room window,
while the sidewalk I learned to ride a bike on tells me I’ve seen this all before
Drives along the boulevard whisper “welcome home” as the winter frost kisses my windshield
A drive-by sighting of my old high school sends less of a greeting,
but rather a reminder of how time has ran a race against me
How I’m settling for shallow conversations and hollowed poems
How my heart has an affinity for inspiration blaring from New York City car horns
How each of our signatures are mere penmanship crafted from the pre-school teachers who taught us how to write
How the words we use to create poetry were graciously decrypted by our mothers and fathers who read to us as we fell asleep
The shells we have molded within are the manifestations of our beginnings,
and the daily reminder of our inevitable hometown affinities.
