Monday, 1 August 2016

Some Are, Some Aren't 1.

I am a visitor to your shores.

A migrant, no less.

I slept on the sands outside the village, swam in your sea.

I ran on your beach this morning, and swam again.

I crossed the salt flats, smelled their mixture of sodium, sulphur and mud.

I stopped and watched the flamingos bleached white from the summer, standing on the drying crusts of saline snow.

I wandered your market, brought apricots and melons.

Aubergines, and goats cheese stored in olive oil.

I spoke with the merchant about other, distant shores.

Her daughter has travelled there, not her.

But the tales have reached her.

Stories also migrate.

I bought clothing for my feet, breakfast for my soul.

I watched your people wake, and rise.

And i bought soap, so i would be clean.

For the festival tonight.

a/b (in a sa/sa) 107

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