A shawl is a refuge when fabric fails— 
Haophee, wrapped at the waist, warm as a mother's palm, 
a substitute for the soft fall of a phanek over her lap. 

And a hanging cloth, a flag of slight defiance— 
Phadi, dangling like a comma of a flag over her flat breasts. 
A she-symbol improvised from poverty’s silent wave. 

A rag, yes, but a pronoun she could wear.