Fatme Takes Beauty Away
The moment she got news of her release,
we all began to weep:
not for her but for ourselves.
No more mornings with her
wrung out kohl colored eyes,
her two beautiful dresses
one from the Iraq
that she slung on
before her cold,
two-gallon shower
and one for after.
Somehow she managed
to change into them
from moment to moment,
or maybe it was her face
that changed
between one tragic thought and another,
as a little boy floats left and right
in the rear view on his old bike,
the kind with a bell
which earmarks a vision
a scene from your own
beautiful movie
as parts of yourself vanish
into the scraps,
odds and ends on the cutting room floor.
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