The fence is too good


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We stand close
yet continents away
She adjusts her veil
I look at my shoes
Her black nail glitter
eyes my faded tracksuit
We observe a minute of silence
over the demise of our unspoken words

The door slides open
I hesitate
A piece of paper stamped
onto my identity, reminds me
this land belongs to her
Her abaya sweeps the floor
We go down together

In the mirror within
I try not to lean
on her part of the image
She re-paints her lips|
and ignores my presence
We dash out
balancing delicate shoulder chips
which never shake hands
and our smiles remain hoarded
hers in her hand bag mirror
mine within too-polite lips
©Reena Prasad 14th May 2013

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