My city smells like new grass after a rain.
Clean dirt, and damp cement.
Bakeries and newly sawn wood.

It sounds like people on the dance floor,
Karaoke on Wednesdays, and the new moon overhead.

It looks like old growth, vibrancy, grit and boot straps, layered with glass and metal and prosperity.

It tastes like barbecue and beer, bread and blunts.
Smoky grills on a Sunday afternoon surrounded by laughter and light.

This Bourgeoning  bull city of bourbon and baseball.
This is our city.

It feels like home.

-HM Braverman