some days during the week I take a city bus
I watch her as she climbs on board
tugging a handcart stuffed with a filthy red Miller's Lite tote bag
I instantly hurt within myself for her
she's wearing dirty black jogging pants, a purple sports bra and runners
a scar runs up from underneath the waist of her pants to the top of the bra
she runs a finger up and down the scar, up and down,down and up
she has burns, scars, raised edges on her exposed skin
a man stands up and gives her his seat
she nudges my foot with her cart
she says 'sorry' and smiles at me
I return the smile saying 'it's okay'
her teeth are darkened yellow, crooked, some missing
I think her age could be thirty
she's so thin, there's no where to hide
I look at passengers, I see disdain, judgement, distaste
it looks as if some are pretending she's not even there
and my hurt for her increases
her pain has no filter