5

With the cadence of immateriality
I don't know what it was her reality
but I claimed it back
by the stack of children books she kept in the back
and as her voice echoed through the room
drawled with oppression and gloom
I felt the pain behind her eyes
as she took pains to hide the nicotine stains on her fingers and nails,
the cut glass gloss to her eyes that shined like no light was behind
and the gaunt pull of her cracked skin on her cheekbones
The sight of her dulled expression,
suppressed aggression, diluted unfulfilled passion
filled me with anger and hate for a state
so oppressive and inherently misused by the class structure
to keep the ladder in place.
Only the ladder is made of matchsticks
 if you put any weight there it breaks
like the broken dreams of those at the bottom grasping for freedom
I knew at once that this girl grew up without love but with deep loss
she marked out the book that I brought to her counter
and stamped in a deadline for our next encounter
I walked away ashamed because I felt like I left her