Atropos

I once encountered a traveler who recounted having met

a petit woman from a land bound in cloth

​

He’d observed that despite being an escort

who’d abandoned her principles and still persevered

her eyes wore a familiar look of desperation

that he could recognize anywhere

​

After an agonizing pause

he presented her with the meager earnings

he’d had on his person

​

Her gaunt face betrayed no hint

of the typical insincere grace

he had grown so accustomed to

​

Yet,

the gleam in her eyes matched

the candlelight of the stone cut

streets in the night as she hastily thanked him and left.

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