As the call to prayer fades

into the shadows, echoing

against a dark sky, after

orange tracings have deepened

to maroon tattoos, after the vows,

my daughter removes glittery bangles 

from her arm, sharp

and loud like glass shattering.

AA

she stares in the mirror.

her husband quickly looks away, but his gaze

wanders back to the reflection

of empty wrists.

AA

she wipes off the coal streaks 

encircling her eyes, lipstick

next, her face is a blend

of watercolor, until it slowly returns

to even shades of amber.

It is muscle memory to her.

To him, it is new.

He says she looks beautiful.

AA

But as I leave for bed, I see

his hand trembling while he 

pushes her hair aside

making sure not to touch her skin.

Carefully, like a child 

by a stove that is far too hot to touch.

Zuha Jaffar