Defending the Veil
By Martin Altman
The veil’s a swath of cotton, silk or flax,
The recipe of God or man
In accord with scripture that
Keeps the face secure
In shadow and repose.
The baby’s first hijab
Is the placenta. The glow
It sees is filtered by a skein of skin.
What other garment is
Grafted to your eyes to
Protect its fragile function from
Those spies that strain to pierce the double door?
When all the gates are guarded,
The beast is held at bay.
The eyes take in and devour the man
In the light of day and
Remove him from the street.
He attaches to some pretty young thing to
Restore his heartbeat.
He’s a stunted tree.
What turns his eye
From its home south bay?
What turns his eye
To the roughest play?
A scandal’s a scourge.
A dirge plays.
Beauty in the deepest cave is
Content to shimmer on the throne
Without an audience.
So abide in the yellow light of
The lily’s embrace.
The veil of darkness makes the darkness shine.
Martin Altman was born and raised in the Bronx, NY, worked in Garment District for 40 years, and has resided in Chicago since 2010. He is a featured reader at The Café and TallGrass Writers Guild in Chicago.