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Dhaka’s Daughters

in dhaka
village women
chant at sundown

shrilling ice
voodoo voices
brew in three-parts

golden shawls
send  new daughters
to foreign work

brown dust boys
tread train tracks
and howl proud

green daughters
clutch small pouches
emptied each monday

bare-skin boys
kick cans in tubs
salty latrines

metal clashes
like bronze cookpans
echoing dirty rhymes

dhaka’s daughters
warm rice at office
in softened pairs

hindu ladies
don’t wear bindi
or thread eyebrows

mangled hands
peel fresh mangos
for today’s punch

they glow bright
oranges drinking in
wine and turquoise
Posted 07/18/13
This poem was originally published in 2013 in the River Oak Review.
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