Tribal marks

Yetunde wears marks on her face.
Tribal. Long lines of pain
Etched into her flesh.

As tradition demands
It is the ones closest to her
That mark her
For identification.

Hands stretch out
Flesh against flesh
Carving hatred and grief into her flesh.

Setting her apart from the other women.
Unmarked with short skirts
And jobs and no husbands.

Her spirit travels above the roof
Out of the one room apartment
And into her parents home.

Where she is chased out
By the unwelcoming hands
Pointed in the direction of her belly.

Reminding her that her cage is safer
Than the free fields she grew up in.

Reminding her that she is a marked woman.