Walking in Marrakech

Walking in Marrakech   An afternoon coated with raw meat, curry, urine, leather, donkey shit. Multilingual chatter of the souk: so many bells and wagon wheels, motorcycles and metal welders and, in the thick of it all, the hiss of a cobra.   Henna designs spilling up...

Hurricane Sandy

Afterward, we worm into the basement of a Mr. Ted Kessler. He watches us pick apart relic from rubble, relent- less relievers, subduing a hoarseness   of tone. Here is his moldy rocking chair. Did he sit here once? To watch the sea romance the sand? We ask now: Does...

On Burqas

  In Istanbul, the owner of the pashmina shop said, “The body is like a gift between husband and wife.” He said the burqa, the hijab, were like human wrapping paper.   I take scarves from the shelf, unfold and refold some, drape the red one over my head, align the...

Aphrodite’s Answer

  after Sappho*   Stop your sighs now, friend. Comb your hair, mend your blouse, and quit pandering for                                     pity. I have seen your                                                 trembling, knuckles all knotted in nerves. Almost nothing...