New York

Lost In New York City

by Jane Van Doe

Someone’s grandma on a bench, I passed her everyday,
sharing the crumbs she’d begged for with any friend or stray
Once I heard her mutter someone killed her kitty.
I don’t want to get lost in New York City.

All of the things she used to love, were written on her face.
Laughter and song were everything, another time and place,
a place where in her dreams, she still was pretty.
I don’t want to get lost in New York City.

Grandma wasn’t on the the bench, when I passed by today.
Her bundles and bags of dreams were there, but she had gone away
and I cried, because I knew she found her kitty.
I don’t want to get lost in New York City.
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