Traces

And once again the mirror
Promptly answers my prayer

While the doting husband waits
In stolid suit and shiny shoes

I review the work of art, my face,
Prepared according to Mary Quant's

Classic tips, pause for a sip
Of tea the maid's just brought--

And reach for the perfume spray--
Joy by Jean Patou, my favourite

As I pump the fragrance around my hair--
My "magnificent coiffure" it's been called--

I notice a lone silver strand, and pause
And stare--it stares back, sleek and confident

I raise the cup again, feigning nonchalance,
Only to be pulled up short by the sight

Of a crimson smear on the smooth rim--
Hideous as a fresh wound.
Suddenly
That regular outrage in these parts,
A power outage, instantly annihilates

My loveliness with all its accoutrements.
I think of the moment when all lights

Will go out forever: perfume in the air, opaque mirror,
Lipstick smear--is this all I'll leave behind?

Kaiser Huq teaches English at Dhaka University.