No Place. Like Home?

No Place. Like Home?

I met her in a bus station.
She was tired.
And hiding.
I tried to make small talk.
And succeeded.
Until I asked where she was going.
"Home," she whispered.
Then quickly turned away.
But not soon enough.
I still saw it.
The ruby slipper
lost in her eyes.
It was soiled and stained.
And sad
            ly responsible
for the single drop of blood
slowly tracing her cheek.