Aisha

"Am I a thread woven on a loom?"
A sister bends her chador-draped head
to the task at hand.  Soon.
Birth of her choosing:
a zig-zag, a quiet rose, a hidden cross.
When her husband comes home
she looks lost
yet works perfectly well

in the kitchen he leaves to her
as her domain -- "Stay,"
she says to a friend
only she could make,
"Stay for a spell and drink some tea."
She pours from her mother's service
for the friend only she may see.
Aisha has gossip to tell.