Fes Tale

an old lady stoops, halves her

bread, shaking arm out

like a gnarled branch, offering

it to the gnarled

man who wears rags

awash in matching dusts.

end scene one, act infinity.

the young girl with hair

brushed smooth clears coke

bottles from the roof top table,

grinning over her

shoulder at the boy working on

the roof

across the street

when she comes back, they lean

over

railings, smiling, silent laughing,

mouthing the words

no one else speaks.

in lulls they watch the people

below, amber-lit, warbling music

cinnamon winds

the girl tosses her hair

as the birds sing endlessly

the shoemakers work

in the shoe-shops and the

shoe-shiners stand by

woodworkers, tailors, leather

tanners and craftsmen

earthenware potters, weave to work

squinting among shimmering

beads on sale, interchangeable

to the ancient ones

in the local museums.

cell phone shops fringe

snakes, charmed among

hanging baubles, genie lairs,

gypsy queen wares

the old city beguiles

the visiter who turns

up, down and around

twisting shifting

sneaking snake paths, breathing

the saffron cinnamon

drugging maze air

the gem-like fruits turn

to body parts, a man

holds a chicken head

in a kleenex, you bump into

a camel’s head while turning

from the milky marble

eyes of a lunatic

you choke on the

putrid stench of

drying skins, dying

leathers, the crowd

pulses

closer, the

walls triangle

up to just a

sliver of sky, like

the eyes

of a veiled woman

the doors

are shaped like

locked

keyholes

and then the voices from the sky

cover their shivering

people, they wash hands, arms,

face, neck, feet, making

perfect lines of persian

carpets or strips of cardboard, falling

to their knees

at once, face down

buried, eyes in the woven dowries

woolen shapes and colors

that chronicle the stories of the illiterate, smooth-

haired girls growing

up among other peoples’

candle-lit dinners until

the eyes

of a boy shine

like stars across

the street scenes and

unreal night