Old Arab coins crocheted with red thread drape
the artist’s forehead. Cut and hammered metal pendants
circle her neck and cover breasts.
In these Atlas Mountains an alphabet of meaning is woven into
carpets, scarves, and henna designs. A purple brown dye
created from plants, henna turns orange when it dries.
Drop and cold drip, line by line, the Berber woman draws
the life she sees on my palms, turning them to cross
the river veins and mountain cysts of my hands.
Diamonds and flowers on the left; a zigzag track on right
travels from wrist to forefinger and back, a wandering
pattern without end.
Two weeks later these faded maps I carry return to el Rich
where the artist meets me in the dusty street.
As she holds my hands, I tell her,
Ah, the black-robed women near Rachadia admire
your skill, the stories in your design.
She smiles, satisfied.
[click on the photo for a larger image]