And we’re the global generation
With our frequent flyer miles
Our fluency in foreign tongues
And friends across continents.
…
We fill our hollows with zinfandel
And raise toasts to 18-hour workdays
And rattle off names of all the massages
We need to de-stress, unwind, feel human again.
…
Strange words we consume,
Rigatoni, kim chi, sake and bagels,
And molten meltdowns in the candle-scented café
At the corner of 7th and 17th.
…
With our international degrees
And accents from back home
We walk our pedicured feet around cities
With elation, with pride, with joy,
That comes from loving
Securely one’s own.
…
Relationships are always in the plural,
Commitment necessitates a therapist and much pondering
And babies before 30 is suicide:
Only fools or the very brave would attempt it.
…
We have memories of snowstorms
And Mardi gras parades
And none of the nights
We stumbled home drunk.
…
And reunions stir up nostalgia
That only barely settles
At the bottom of our core
Threatening to regurgitate
At a moment’s notice
(And sometimes, not even that.)
…
We dance the salsa with abandon
Reworking the heavy kathak tread
Learned in a blurred, sepia childhood,
Our bodies unashamed,
Our spirits unfettered
Our lives the way we dreamed them.
…
And pillows are for soaking
All the broken dreams
That look around quickly
Before gushing forth and flooding
The silent, unjudging night.
P.S. Haaaaalp! How does one add line breaks to this darn thing?!
Vox populi