An (In)Convenient Encounter

A homeless woman
winks at me and asks
for a dollar.

She smells of wet wool
and the decaying foods
eaten only to relieve
the roaring hunger in her gut.

I want to ask if the bottle
in her hands is a cry for help
and if its empty space will hold
a scribbled SOS on yellowing paper
instead of the scent of alcohol.

I want to turn away from her pleading eyes
but my heart is a screaming butterfly,
telling me to expand as it grows.

My thumb and index finger smooth
and crease the dollar,
continually teasing the woman with time.

Giving her the money
reminds me of convenience stores,
threatened by desperate fists,
stained red and throbbing
for just one taste
of humanity.

A homeless woman
winked at me and asked
for a dollar.

Only now do I know
that her eyes
were binding misery.