The light in her eyes

Was there,

But was as ineffectual

As an upturned umbrella,

Her reality saturated

By whatever had happened to her.

She had a rigid distrust

Like a lone survivor,

Wrong place, wrong time,

Rattled by the very air

That filled her lungs,

The very breeze that dimpled

Her perpetually cold skin

Guarded heavy eyes,

Posture like a rescue animal,

Peering into the world

she didn’t know.

She became the bank teller

Who anticipated her fate;

Well before the masked man

Approached her window;

I wish it had been different