1-13-05

Burqua

 

I wanted to give you a poem,

since I have seen your hidden face,

that I might give voice

to your silent pain.

 

But what pain can I express

Save my own fear of anonymity -

of denying my brightly burning Self?

 

And here in the land of monsoons and Mohammed

perhaps the billowing black shroud

is no curse, but a blessing—

            a shield against lascivious eyes  

            and insulation from their cold gaze

Still, I think your smile suits you better,

pig-tails swing as you unwrap for class.

Your hair is black and your smile shy.

 

I will not forget your face behind the curtain.