She moves with the fluidity of
a recycled raindrop
tramped upon by scuffed brogues
on pavements dented with use.
Face veiled, hands knotted
tied and dried,
eyes sunken.
Unnoticed,
she burrows secrets in sans serif
concealed within a moleskine.
She’s never tried pomegranates,
sea men or saviours,
spent behind a niqab.
People will say her father
should not have beat her.
Her mother should have beat her more.
She says nothing
as she boards the bus
and evaporates.
Musings and Smatterings 
Powerful, tragic…and yet restrained. Fine work.
Thanks Jackie!
I really like this – for me a sense of quiet desperation.
dang this is good too…that opening..moving with fluidity of a recycled raindrop…magic…and the evaporating tying back….gorgeous write shan
Thanks Brian, having today to go around some blogs I haven’t visited in a while. I love my Sunday poetry day
Sad yet so beautiful.
This is a very intense poem – I am thinking a lot about the line of the mother beating her more – I actually think that there is a fair amount of repression by women so I’m not completely sure of that line, but I do understand what you are getting at. The disconnect too of not having the pleasures, the richness of a certain heritage, but the limitation. (I think there’s limitation even with pomegranates though–still a super interesting poem very well-expressed.) k.
Wow! Not sure what to say… beautiful, powerful and tragic all in one!
Love this, Shan. A short study of a person who appears for a moment in your life and then disappears as quickly, leaving behind a perception. You generate empathy for this woman in her solitary suffering. Lovely