Picture of Two Veiled Women

I see no walls
only the sky resting
on the lip of the horizon
and the two of you, standing,
not in a garden
but in some brush waste--
and I know this is all
careful illusion.
No need for walls
when you carry your prison
on your body,
those heavy robes, layer
on layer of rich fabric
sealing you in
covering your face
confining you
in a dark swelter--
where even your hands
are silenced,
muffled in thick
folds of cloth.
And though your sister
has removed her veil
she holds it ready
to replace as soon
as your brief moment
of conversation ends.
What can you say
to each other?

Picture of Two Veiled Women

Outside the picture frame
I know your escort waits
close enough to guard you
from corruption
close enough to hear
what you say.
So even your words,
sister to sister,
are bridled and choked
their bright fires smothered
under suffocating robes.