In the right light.
If you squinted.
If you looked just beyond the top of her head.
Then you could make out three separate figures.
A soldier. An old man. A man with a white beard, covered in dust.
2am, pulling herself down the street with her one good arm.
She smiles. Big and bright.
Blind in one eye.
Missing the other.
When she was seven, her mother died.
Her father remarried after that.
She moves along the streets of Seattle.
Her halo brighter than a headlight.
She gives protection.
She offers smiles
A wink that makes her laugh.
When she’s on the street, you’re safe.