And she sits alone
Hands gently folded
In her lap

Dressed all in black
Nothing flattering about
Her ensemble

Woman of about 65
Face wrinkled and care worn
And I know her

Yet she is a stranger to me
And I begin to ask myself
All sorts of questions

How beautiful was she?
How sharp was her wit?
How delicate was her demeanor?

Who was lucky to have her heart?
Who did she love unconditionally?
Who made her happiest in her life?

Who was cruel enough to break her heart?
Who could ever hate this person?
Who hurt her the most in her existence?

She does not wear a ring on that special finger
There is no sign she ever wore one at all
Was she never married?

Was she not fortunate enough to be a mom?
Was she even unluckier to have been an only child?
Is she the last in her family to survive?

So when she passes - what happens?
Who will be around to remember her?
Who will live to mourn and grieve over her?

I will. I will be there. Even if I am alone.
Simply because she is me.
In this older woman I see myself.

I see my future experiences
Of love and loss, happiness and hurt
And I can't help but wonder

Shall I suffer the same fate?
Will I be alone forever?
I am afraid...for her...for myself...

Can someone please help me?
Does anyone have the answers?
Can anybody save me from this?

And to think
This is all because
Of the train ride home...