To the cafe, I was on my way over.
Until someone behind me tapped me on my shoulder.
I whipped around surprised, completing a one-eighty.
There in front of me stood an old brown lady.
She looked quite familiar, like someone I'd know.
Her wrinkles were deep; hair icy like snow.
Her brows furrowed; she has seen a lot in her life.
Her hand bore a ring, symbol of a wife.
Her teeth are yellowed from cigarettes and wine,
She wore a mask of makeup to cover worry lines.
She struggled to stand, grasping a cane.
She shook her hair, strands fell from her mane.
Her skin had purpled under her eyes.
It was then I started to realize
As I was surveying the bruises under her jaw,
I took a step back, and stood in awe.
She looked like me! Same nose and birthmark,
Even the same skin, caramel and dark.
Except she had scars on her arms and wrists,
In fact they were everywhere, too many to list.
She carefully placed a withered hand on my shoulder,
Her touch was light, yet it felt like a boulder.
My vision went fuzzy, all I hear is her voice,
Urging me to, in life, make the right choice.