No one thinks a thing about it

If you were to look into her eyes
You would see
Her compassion

If you were to stop and listen
She would recite for you
A new poem

If you were to offer her a meal
She would offer
To share her story

But her story is fading
She has not retold it
In too many seasons

Passersby
Occasionally, risk a glance
Rarely, offer a word of kindness

As she pushes her shopping cart
Filled with her stories
Down the darkened alley