cookie

The acceptance
set deep in the iris of your dark,
tired
eyes makes you beautiful.
You sit with dignity,
unfazed by the roughness
of the road
or the condition of the overused bus.
I sit beside you
trying my very hardest
to accept,
as well as you can.
Two bananas rest in your crooked,
sun spotted,
gentle hands.
It has been hours
and your fruit has remained
untouched.
I presume you have intentions
beyond yourself.
In my lap lay cookies,
a treat but not a luxury.
I slowing take one out of its
wrapper and offer it across the aisle.
Silently you turn toward me,
your aging face braking into a smile.
You reach out your hand,
accepting my small act of sharing.
You nod ever so slightly and I believe
we understand.