If she were white, she’d probably be
A fat, happy Irish with her shopping bag.
But it was four in the morning and I couldn’t quite see
Why she stood at that counter and eyed every tag.
Her hands were from dishes or making the bed.
She looked as if she’d been scrubbing the floor.
The showcase was full of those things my mother would wear
When she wanted to preen and show herself well,
Of earrings and bracelets, barrettes for her hair,
And a pin flush with diamonds, set in a shell.

And my heart sneered inside as she stood there and smiled
As I wondered what she would do with a pin
When she hadn’t a ribbon to wear with a flair.
No one of us (or was it just I?) who watched her look down
Would buy her the dreams that were locked in that case.
No one of us (or was it just I?) could see
Her parade in a long evening gown.
The store dress she wore with its badly sewn seams
Mirrored the plainness of soul on her face.
That shell of diamond, whose glittering ice
Would warm the heart of many a girl,
Would, if it could be given to her,
Somehow lose its charm to enchant and entice.
Whatever she wore from that case on her dress
Would seem to us (or was it just I?)
Somehow betrayed and worth a deal less.

Now I doubt she felt the thoughts in my head
As she stood there and smiled at her dreams, all alone,
And I think she knew well that she wasn’t well bred
And her home was a room with not even a phone.
But she stood there despite all the facts in the world,
Dipping her eyes to her dreams locked below.
And which one of us (especially I) would lack
Enough heart to deny her her dreams?
And which one of us (especially I) would steal from her soul
And shut off her life from the jewels in that case?
And which one of us (O God, how dare I)
Will ever forget the look on her face
As the buses were called and she turned to go?