From my second story window

Lucky enough to know that I know nothing of the moment.
What that must feel like.
The thoughts that bounce around her mind.

I know nothing of the process,
the words to come up with,
hoping hers will stand out.
Hers will make them want to hand out.

That moment when the pen cap’s removed,
the sudden scent of permanent ink that could erase
something she hopes is temporary.

She felt the felt tip touch the surface,
all she could afford or find.
She’s lost any sense of entitlement now
as she picks up the sign.

I know nothing of what it takes to walk the distance,
a mere prayer in her hands,
to plant feet in a place so many had likely failed before,
but she hopes she’ll be different.

Hopes.
Dashed with every car,
driven by eyes that move the other direction
as they painstakingly wait out the seconds for the OK to move on.

They are lucky enough to know nothing of the moment.
What that must feel like.
The thoughts that bounce around her mind.