By Lavinia Liang
The problem with New York is you / think you’ve made it before you’ve / made it. The problem with me is I / can’t keep it to myself. Two small / dogs flirt outside Port Authority, / their owners embarrassed against / (or about) the light of Times Square. / The problem with me is I can keep / a secret / but not a man. The problem with February light is / there isn’t any. At dinner someone asks me / (again): Are you seeing anyone? and I say, All / roads lead to Rome. Even if tomorrow I / don’t remember this velvet air, I’ll tell myself / I do.
Lavinia Liang is a writer and attorney. Her writing has been published in The Guardian, The Atlantic, TIME, the Los Angeles Review of Books, AGNI, and elsewhere.