a light brush here, a touch up there
a slight touch to the finely coiffed Nefertiti hair
Its Friday, and the train lurches
like the Ellington standard
but the delicate hands are steady
on these painted women,
not from Langston’s streets,
no, these painted ladies
live in a corporate world
One freckled face, smooth mocha
the stranger to her left,
pale as the the hunter’s moon
night and day
beauty and strength
who is hiding?
what cannot be revealed?
when will these sisters be free?