Saturday, February 9, 2013


Chamomile blossoms
grow between paving stones.

Veiled women
gather the plants to brew
while fresh lemons
hang on the other side
of the walled city.

A girl head-shawled
in her own black hair
curses the lack
of grass, fruit and water.

She enters the house
and pours herself
a cup of morning tea --

some sugar stirred in
with more idleness.

There is no work, no taste
on behalf
of the other half
for her almond colored hands.

Their gift of dexterity.

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