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I know children in the deep of the city who grow where they can like chicory squeezing up between the sidewalk cracks in front of abandoned stores where spray-painted graffiti announces "Thuggin for life" one day and proclaims "huggin for life" the next.

I know children in the drought of the city who squat like street musicians in church doorways and call out to strangers to watch their show— where they leap up in the air, flip mid-jump and land on their feet like cats in the grass.

And I know children in the dust of the city who wait for a word of applause like weeds wilted from the heat waiting for a drink to quench their thirst where roots hold their ground— so they can grow, huggin for life like chicory after a summer rain.

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