by Elizabeth J. Coleman
I step outside, call out to one
hail it, beautiful
sunflower. My grandchildren love
the sunshiny color too,
the optimism in the bold
way cabs announce their presence
pull over cockily
to the curb, let you know wordlessly
I’m here and I’m going to pick you
up, just you.
And I’m going to take you
wherever you need to go.
They were my saviors when I was young
and alone, and New York was mean,
and I was careless of myself.
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