What If

She eyes her companions on the margin,
crone women with sweaters and shopping sacks,
stray cats missing eyes,

and men who sell papers by the store.
Pandora feels the tight shawl of guilt
drape her shoulders, wrap around her voice.

Perhaps she was just a pawn,
a pretty plaything of some Almighty,
but she could have been the queen of second chances,

proving beauty can pair with brains
and people may learn from their mistakes.
She didn’t mean to ruin the world.

When the wind shudders through her,
regret makes a thin sweater.
Again, she considers consulting that oracle,

asking the mysterious for everyday advice.
She reaches deeper into wool pockets,
digs for any spare change.