Brooklyn

We crossed bridges, shared dumplings,

talked late in your Brooklyn kitchen,

where the skyline glittered like dreams.

New York, a city of exclamations,

pulling me from the quiet of the past.

We read poems, wrote our stories,

spoke of mothers folding secrets into dough.

Mine crossed oceans, chasing a dream,

but found peace only in water’s embrace.

Even now, she boils water out of habit,

a ritual, a memory, a quiet triumph.

She could boil the sea itself,

and leave it better than before.