The Sandal

Romping drums cross-stitched
on the flames
skirts frothing
about her thighs,
castanets biting,
and her hair, the exclamation
point
of her form.

The motion of her way.

A rose, sultry
as lip-blood
her grin porcelain,
his voice a mantle,
and between skin the
comfort
of sweat.

The sway of her stride.

Her face,
a blight of wrinkles.
Her hands, bones
of dry spaghetti cramped
in prayer.

The mark of her step.

My palm
coils to the leather and
I know her rhythm.

1988

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Thoughts and Comments

Published under my maiden name: Barbara Muller

Calliope 1988
Published by the Students of the University of the Pacific
Stockton, CA
1988

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©2005-2008-2008 Barbara L.M. Handley

Contact Barbara Handley at mailto:ardea@flipsideb.com

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