Can You see Me?

Can You see Me?

Her face is drawn in a frame that is thin, whittled away each day, lost to a world's gaze.
Left carting around a life with no predicted presence, in days, she manages to survive by a thin thread.

Once prominent, she knew what it meant to attend the ball, where prestige and position waltzed the halls of society.
Her personal security was upended on the turn of a shiny dime, abandoned expectations fill her heart.
She is left alone, to forage for life, on her own.

A slow bleed, out of a pitcher leaking a comfortable life.
Where erosion becomes master, ticking away significance; she is no longer capable of looking into the mirror.

She lives in the safety of a used up car,
found parked in neighbourhoods, where affluence burns street lights in bright.
Alone, in the cold of night she whispers, God, what happened to me?

Her breath is burned by the voltage of vodka and mixed prescriptions.
A personal remedy to numb raw pain, killing awareness; she can only pretend she is alive.

She has become a circuit rider,
who knows each stop on a route where mercy, asks no questions.
A favourite is a downtown church that serves free breakfasts on Saturday's at 9:00 am.

Costco offers food samples mid week.
But, most significant in a life of turned away faces, a kind set of eyes at Subway, on Friday afternoon, from 3-5.

Un-noticed by most of humanity, a regular Subway worker dresses food, and a woman's lonely heart.
With touches of compassionate words, on ham and wheat bread, served with tender eyes.
A sacred hour, where a stranger feels nourished and alive.

She then escapes into the night, in another far away neighbourhood,
and counts the days in unbearable minutes.

Anxiously awaiting a free Subway sandwich,
handed to her on the wings of compassion, that do not judge.
Carefully wrapped with extra serviettes, in a weekly dose of mercy and grace.