A Woman Named Dolores by Monet Ayala

I never liked talking to strangers

Especially not strangers at bus stops.

But one day,

I met a woman named Dolores

With skin like leather and eyes like the sun.

Her smile felt like a warm embrace

Like a fireplace

After a cold night out.

She was not beaten down

And battered and bitter and

Angry at the world, as other women her age

So often were.

She had lived, there was no doubt about it

Life had made its marks all over her.

I could see it in every wrinkle

Every sag

Every sunspot.

But she wore life well

Like a really good worn, weathered jacket.

I told her I was a student.

I told her where I worked.

I couldn’t tell her how helpless and aimless and tired I felt.

But she looked at me

With her sage eyes

Like she saw my every fear

And told me to take it day by day

And everything would be alright.

It sounded terribly trite

And if anyone else had said it I might

Not have listened to them at all.

But something told me this chance encounter

Was not a coincidence at all.

Something told me

The powers that be

Wanted me to meet

A woman like Dolores.