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Disappearing




Anonymous hands wove loathing into
Soft pashmina shawls
Embroidering them with phantom thumbs,
With threads sourced from the
Rags which had been tied
At shrines of a thousand saints for
The safe return of those who disappear

Each weave, a paisley of memory
Each knot, an unanswered prayer
Each border, an unadorned tale
softly woven to rest on delicate shoulders,
So every winter night, when rich women in faraway lands,
Hold themselves tighter in a garden party,
a small part of us will breathe
the free air of an alien land
before we all
disappear


--

Tz






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