Seconds after I was born in you
the nurse told my mother
“this one’s big enough to flag a cab home,”
and though that didn’t happen then
I love them today with passion.
Who doesn’t love to be wisped off
a sidewalk by handsome men with tablas
and ouds laying down the soundtrack?
Who doesn’t envy an open window
ride over a bridge or on the FDR?
My hair and your breeze.
You were there for me then,
and you’re here for me now,
April, your yellow ship extending
and connecting agendas and what’s nexts
and maybe even time itself. I was young
once, and, yes, every time you pass by.
I will always wave you down.
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