Henna

The acid travelled up her throat,

And the henna wafted into her nose,

As the hanana added the black ink to her concoction,

To adorn the brides landscape.

First time to let the henna touch her feet,

Swirl around her heels and up her calves,

Her mother claps to the beat,

Rhythmically pounding the floor with her sway,

With acid swirling her gut,

and her heartstrings taut.

She was once here,

In between excitement and fright,

Embellishing her frame with Nubi speckled patterns,

Trying to imagine the look on his face.

The henna pushes through the nozzle,

The cold stream laid on skin,

Silencing the clap clap,

The smell is familiar,

the sensation is not.

And pushed back into existence,

the hanana asks “What does he like?”

And she replies

“What do I like?”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s