In The Kasbah
they eat sliced oranges
bright with sugar.
He pours mint tea from a height,
loves the drama.
She’s in his darkness.
A purple shadow makes a thumb print,
a smudge, a small mistake.
It’s a squall of white that captures her attention,
like the promise of a covenant.
She could speak
or take the lemons from this scrubbed table,
but she doesn’t want to disturb
First published in Crannóg, 2016