A Powerful Poem

From my Car on Broad Street
The child’s mother pulled him
and he trotted to keep up. She looked straight ahead
and probably did not see
the woman in her shroud of filth
tucked beneath some newspapers and a fraying blanket
on the church steps. Did not see her boy
Waving to the lady or the broken
lady lifting her hand to him either.
— Ross Gay
What are you seeing, and not seeing?

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