Different Worlds

Watching the news with my daughter
we lean against each other,
her young body folding into mine,
her slender hand in mine.

The Northern Alliance has just taken Kabul.
The camera exposes shrouded women
in a sunny market.
One
tosses back
her burka,
exposing squinting eyes,
a radiant smile,
hands that come to life
as they fondle produce,
fingers for a moment free to touch.

An Afghan vendor rages:
Disgusting. Cover your face.
The woman swiftly complies.

Beside me my daughter stares,
questions:
“Why is she is disgusting?
“Why should she cover her face?”
With faith concludes,
“That’s mean! We’re lucky. Our leaders
wouldn’t let that happen to us.”

She needs to believe this,
turns to me,
in the silence, sees my downcast eyes, feels a trace
of the shudder I cannot suppress

as I consider
what made the Afghan woman cower,
what made her swiftly bow her head,
transform her face to a stony mask,
roll the daylight out of her life
with her own
deft hands.

Carlinda D'Alimonte