Friday, April 15, 2011

Flashbacks for the Tourist

red wine / brown earth / bowed horizon
wind in the memories so like music
or dance / an action and an art / artifice
a convention of ghosts

At most, it was a silhouette, sensed motion
against a background of buildings, umbrellas
hoisted in a toast to sun and blue sky,
trolleys snaking between cars, vendors offering
pizza and toasted almonds, ice cream,
glass necklaces, paintings of an impossible place

and I was again in Cairo, the pyramids
of Giza shimmering through heated atmosphere,

but I forget, that is all gone for now, with the revolution —
even the old woman in black, carrying rice on her head,
walking with a fascinating accent.

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