“The street is dangerous”
the boy says to his sister
in hand at the crosswalk.

It is 2pm on the corner
and the school kids
begin to pass the cafe.

Strollers and stragglers
others bounding alongside
their tired mothers.

Some gaze upwards
stretching their arms
towards buildings and lights,

things they cannot
reach but hope
to one day grasp.

Others absorbed
into small devices
held in their hands,

things they cannot
touch but will try to
for maybe a long time.

So many come still
all at waist height
in their multicolored jackets,

Pokemon backpacks,
and Spiderman sneakers
that drag along the sidewalk.

And finally the little girl
who touches all she passes —
the iron fence, my chair,

the table — as if the world
only becomes real
under her palm.