SNAKECHARMERS

I bought a single string of beads
In a Marrakesh bazaar
They were blacker than a starless night
I dreamed of binding them upon my wrist
Hoping that they would assist
My recollection of your many names
 
and further, would provide an anchor or a frame
for all the rushing thoughts that hitherto
had filled my days with over flowing  streams
 
I got the beads at half the opening price
We both seemed satisfied
with our end of the deal
I made my way
Back to the main square
Where the sunlight fell
Upon the righteous (and the rest of us)
Though these days, who can tell?
So many lines seem blurred.
 
Meanwhile the drums begin
their fevered  pulse and throb
beneath the shrill insistent reeds
that wail as they poke and prod
The slack coils on the sackcloth
’til they stir
And stake their regal claim upon the day
Spreading their hoods and rising as they sway
 
From where I stood their tongues were hidden, still.
But their eyes were beads that glittered
as they asked me ‘is this real?’

 

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Steve Scott
Illustration: Claire Palmer

 

 

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