The cloth covering her chest lifts
and falls as she sits in silent worship.
She isn’t wearing anything binding.
Even her hair is free, her toes are bare,
her hands lie palms up on her thighs, fingers
slightly cupped, curled, and her eyes unfocused.
In one shudder, she lifts both shoulders up
to her ears, pauses, then drops them, which shakes
her right hand from its lap perch to her side
abandoning it there in one long line
thumb touching four fingers as it lands
and waits lightly, patiently for a word.
Or did she hear, in an instant, the calland now signs “Yes, I hear and follow”?
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