And the women cried
through the chanting in the mosque
the women with covered heads,
even the Americans,
they all cry under scarves
behind the screen
apart from their sons,
their lovers
their husbands
their fathers.
They cry – they cry,
they chant – they chant
the prayer for the dead
whom they mourn.
Holding hands
like each of them
were the widow,
holding hands
with themselves.