Six months since she’s arrived
And yet she does not speak.
She must have been chained;
This I guess from the bruises
On her wrists. But she will not
Let me touch them.
She trembles at the sight
Of tall men, more so at those
With shadows on their lips.

I ply her with green fruits
And with the strains
Of my youth’s guitar,
But she will not be moved.
She wraps her hair
About her like a robe,
Clenches and unclenches her fists,
Forming bullets
With the unseen sand.

At night, I long
To draw her to me, to whisper
To her my life’s promise:
I will bring back his head
Jutting from the tip
Of his own crescent-shaped sword.

But she pulls away
Withdrawing into the tent
Of her own thoughts,
Her eyes flickering, re-living
Her thousand and one
Horrors.

— Fatima Lim, “Slave Woman of Tarlac, Tarlac (A Filipina Maid Comes Home from Kuwait).” 1988.

Image from Nikita Dancel’s “Phantom Limbs,” 2012.

*Because not all women wear heels. And the women who might need help most, worry about their shoes the least.