In training for the veil,
she nails the claustrophobia
but mourns the loss of her peripheral
vision, the dance classes and the wind
in her hair. She sips life through a straw
like one trapped under ice and practices
the art of being servile. They say she is lucky
to be one of but three to share his house.
She should have married Jesus
while she had the chance and slept alone.
She peers through her nose hole
and imagines life in a bell jar, contained.
Image comes to us from Tess at Magpie Tales, a blog to nourish the muse, one dedicated to the enjoyment of poets and writers, but I take responsibility for the rest. Tess's poem can be found here.