post-menopausal
my feet get cold
really, very cold
so i bought a pair
of fleece woven
house boots
soft rubber memory soles
made in Iceland
my hair doesn’t get
greasy anymore
my skin is dry
my mouth is dry
i feel chalk white
against a clay wall
under a Mesolithic
Spanish sun
dry
i was oily
on the edge of the Sahara
once, red hair
sun burn
amber
dressed in army green rags
an oasis of palm
and desert water
solar storm
and shades of cool
sweet dates, figs, tea
and silk-lined pipes
made of Jade, made of
ten thousand years
of wandering
until here
camps of sound
kilohertz
at the end of the sun
and footprints in the
hot sand
