and from the inside in

To Market, to Market
Omdurman, Sudan
Draped head to ankle in a thobe of striped colors,
Fazila walks among mingling odors, through stalls
where fish lay drying in baskets. Above her
hang crocodile belts and bound grasses, crafts
created from date palms. She turns her nose
from vats of garlic to face ripe, plump mangoes,
stacked sacks of Kenana sugar, and toiletries.
While women huddle to make their selections
from bins of misshapen peppers,
Fazila, undetected, slips Haloderm soap into her bag,
determined to rid herself and her young husband
of the darkness of her face.
Though he has denied her wish
to purchase lightening products,
she notices how his eyes linger
on the faces of women with skin as fair as
elephant tusk.
Whenever Fazila comes to market, she sees
that stunning model on the billboard
her larger-than-life face
shades lighter than her own shoulders.
Early Christian Church
Fathers Warn
Alexandria, Egypt, 200 A.D.
Women who frizzle their hair and anoint their cheeks
open themselves to an insidious coil
that unwinds stealthily, inches toward the heart, lays low.
The gray hair, golden? the tired eyes, painted?
Yes, these women smile and chatter. But do they not
forget to shake the rugs
rinse the plates,
tend the arbor?
At dawn, they primp, rack, plaster
themselves with curious washes and creams.
Afternoons, they sew gold fringe onto hems
or lapis lazuli baubles into brooches,
while their children crawl at their feet.
These women do not see the frowns
behind their husband’s facial hair.
These women who adorn the body
adore the body
flatten grace.
Today, among the hum of tribal dialects
a woman’s lilting British voice, “Coppertone?
Doesn’t anyone here sell suntan lotion?”
Fazila’s eyes catch the swish of her light hair,
shopkeepers shaking their heads,
their eyes flitting
like the underbellies of toads.
Marsha Mathews
Fazila rushes out to where she can see
that billboard model
one last time
before returning
the Haloderm soap
and wiping her hands
of any residue.
Marsha Mathews
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