1B

The woman sitting next to me
in 1B has burn marks on her hands.
As she sleeps, I let myself stare
trying to figure out
if it was a cooking accident
or...

She boarded quietly,
but her eyes
grazed med with
malignant anger.

She is awake now.
I turn away,
look out the window.
Reaching for the phone
the sleeve of her business jacket lifts, revealing
a neat row of round burn marks
all up her forearm.

Was she hurt as a child?
Was it a late husband,
mean boyfriend, crazy sex fetish?

I try to catch the title
of the book she's reading
for clues.
It's just some mystery novel.

I can tell
I'm making her
uneasy.
I go back to my writing.

She looks so hard --
like a lot of women in L. A.
Dark secrets hunting her insides,
softness sucked out,
a deep sadness in her eyes.

Jewel Kilcher