In some cultures, loyalty extends far beyond the fair or rational, but no one controls what happens after tradition is satisfied:
Burnt Offering
(The Virtuous Wife)
This suttee
is easier to bear with eyes closed.
She falls upon his burning pyre,
puts out his flame,
grateful for short rituals.
The pyre,
the bone,
ashes on the sheets.
He cannot touch her.
She is air.
She floats his breath.
She tracks his carbon
down the hall.
She walks
out to the Avenue,
wearing sheerest black
with nothing but a cauldron underneath.
Her fire.
She picks a stranger
dusted by the road,
leans him against
shadows
in the tall grass,
spills her steam,
lifts into
penumbra
above shaded hill.
The prompt today was loyal.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
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I have often envisioned this in the home of an arraigned Muslim marriage, when visiting their home, the wife is only a fleeting image off in the distance, seldom entering the room except on his demand, and I would wonder what was on her mind, under all that covering. Often the dog got more attention than her. Yet our maid when she would arrive for the work day took all that extra cloth off and became a beautiful person to be around.
But your poem may speak of another person in another place in a different situation. There used to be a (comical) statement from my younger days: Why do you love me in the bushes but do not know me on the streets~? Well done thanks~!
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A great flow of images in this piece. Your words really catch fire in a beautiful way well done.
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Yep, this is a strong poem Judy 🙂 Thanks for joining in
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