Y in the Road

        Y in the road

She stands beside me,

Heartbeat thumping, as sure as mine

My fingers swell visibly and my wrists pang with pain

But her pain is different, it lingers all around her

Her hair is a muss, charcoal black smudges under each eye,

Not the sort left from wiping tears away.

A small child sits silently in her stroller

Looking too tired from life than a child should.

She stares blankly

Unattached to any feeling whatsoever,

It’s as if she’s seen something she’s still trying to process.

Mom is spilling out of the top of her dirty dress,

Her scars, and indistinguishable red marks and

Blue grey tats mark her, like the weight on a bulk food item

They read names like Eddie and Victor

Where is her mother, I think to myself?

Surely she is dead, or dead to her-

 Either way, she is better off, not knowing

What she has done or not done

Maybe she was beaten or called ugly?

Or was she left in her stroller,

At such a vantage point, she could only see

the ugly side of the world?

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