dear woman on the street:
i don't know you, and you don't know me.
i'm sure that people think you're incredible.
i love the way you walk, as if you have the
entire world on your shoulders and the
rest of your life ahead of you.
i wonder if you'll find a cure someday, or
if you'll ever be a mother, or an aunt,
or someone's mentor. i wonder if you have
ever smoked or done hard drugs or had
wild sex at parties like some people i know.
and i secretly hope you have, because everyone
has lessons they should learn sometime,
and judging from the way you look at your
pointed-toed shoes, you have something
to hide, or be ashamed of.
i hope it all gets better, stranger.
i really do.
and if i am wrong, well, let's pretend i never wrote this and
you caught the city bus on time and
you arrived at the place you needed to get to,
and nothing tragic happened.