Saturday, February 9, 2013

Belly Dancer In Green Point

The silent ululation of her hips, trembled
through fingers of a tambour player
turning tempo to musk
plastering long ebony hair
to skin

Her hands spoke a language, of grace
not understood by the sly glances of men
or the awkward hearts of women

Yet, bare feet carried the curves of her body
as if she was unformed, a child
handing-out syrupy koeksusters
to uncles and aunties
for love

*koeksuster* a plaited pastry steeped in syrup

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