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