I Miss You
The floor tasted like salt and whiskey as I lay next to you,
one last time and cried for what we had been. I only hope you are now free from what haunted
you.
Ifiritah
“Does each move really have a meaning?” “Yes, my dear.” “What’s the significance of that hip movement?" Her dark eyes laughed even as she shook her head in disapproval. “Silly daughter, you will understand soon. But now you do not need to know, you just need to learn. Now, again. Step, hip, step, hip, step, around. Yes, good. Don’t forget your hands.” I followed her in a poor imitation. My mother was teaching me the Tanoura. She gracefully moved from step to step in a circle around me, hips shimmying and feet stomping out a beat. Her dress swirled around her like a sandstorm. I had come into my womanhood and tonight we would go into the desert and celebrate with all the women of my family. I would dance for the first time and become part of our tribe’s sisterhood. Step, hip, step, hip, step, around. Don’t forget my hands. Step, heel, step, around, hip, hip, hip. Again, and again until my legs shook with exhaustion, and sweat dripped off my sun-darkened brows.
Painfully put!
ReplyDeleteThere is so much pain and heartbreak in this one. I love the contrast between salt and whiskey.
ReplyDeleteWhat a tragic tale! My heart ached for them both. Only a minor thing, but the comma placement in the first line threw me a little, I think it may have needed a mate after "time".
ReplyDeleteThe imagery and the words compliment each other . The story is so painful.
ReplyDeleteThis is a sad story, well written. The photo you chose suits it perfectly.
ReplyDeleteSo sad, yet beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteVery poignant, the words. And the image is a great pick...
ReplyDelete