for Fred Rogers
Today, I will look for the helpers—
the woman pouring sunflower seeds
from an orange bag into the feeder,
and a chickadee, having eaten its fill,
lifting off so another can feast there.
Someone holding open the fogged-over
door of the coffee shop for a stranger
who smiles and says thank you in spite
of the news. I will watch workers dressed
in neon vests with shovels and buckets,
filling potholes across the city, the asphalt
steaming as they spread it over the street,
then tamp it down, repairing what they can.
—James Crews
[Three of my favorite helpers].
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