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