Lonely Girl

she sat on the seat far in the rear so no one would notice her cheeks stained with blue, rips and smudges all around her dirty little sweater guess its cold this time of year in the region of pain she calls home, that is, if she has one judging by the looks of her... she couldn't have been more than eight nine at most, with tattered shoes on her feet, I wondered where is her mother? does anyone care? curious, I glanced in her general direction and with a wave of my hand nodded and smiled wishing there was something I could do... suddenly filled with rage and indignation I stared straight ahead, tears streaming fast my heart sank by what I'd just witnessed, I watched as she shifted ever so quietly, there on the seat where she sat there on the back of the bus, her sad eyes transfixed on something just outside the window in the back of our minds, a memory unfolds carefully as not to alarm, gently a vapor a clue or small hint a dream colored wisp, setting the stage just in case you're not ready. not ready for the unveiling not ready for the truth it could bring