Passenger

So tender, fresh, ignored...
I looked at her and saw my reflection,
tattered, worn, hurt, waiting.
I wanted to tell her how OK it would be,
but I had respect for her.
She asked me, "Why?" ... as if I had the answers in a confidential folder.
Her pride caused her chest to rise as if someone forbade to do otherwise in these situations.
An attempt of dignity came.
She walked away and told me she's going to find her salvation.
Her swollen belly glistened with innocence.

I wanted to tell her about the blank mission she was embarking on.
I wanted to tell her she was looking in the wrong direction.
I wanted to warn her about the blisters on her feet that were to come.
I wanted to hold her hand on this journey, but my feet were sore too.

She would soon find an unmatchable inner strength.
Soon, the walk's purpose would change.
Her smile would resurface with the embrace of her unborn.
She'll ask me, " What about me?"
I'll just wonder for her as I do for myself.
Where's my safety net?
No one ever catches me.
What if I'm not sure?
So, is this it?.... Stick it out?
No one's listening.
No one ever is.

I held her hand and walked with her.