MOROCCO

Rabat …
The Imam’s call brings me out of sleep.
Still wearing my djellebas
I walk through the gently billowing white curtains,
my feet falling softly on the already-warm mosaic floor.
A Berber woman sits in the courtyard, grinding nuts for Argan oil,
she smiles and bids me sit down and take her offering of bisarra,
scooped from the bubbling pot into a pottery bowl that fits in my palms as if I’d molded it.
I smell the incense on her skin, the smell of the spices in the market behind me intoxicates me.
Sensory overload, I am in heaven …

October, I am waiting.

©Cindy Taylor 2009

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5 Comments Add yours

  1. lyndatjie says:

    Argh – are you going to Morocco in October? I am now traumitised beyond belief…. *goes off to kick some quava trees*

  2. theonlycin says:

    No, it was a dream last year to go with Jenny Morris, but it fell through. Maybe, one day.
    Poor guava trees, shame on you!

  3. adeeyoyo says:

    Aaah, wonderful! Gorgeous smell of spices brings me right into the scene. Thanks for the short holiday, Cin.

    1. theonlycin says:

      No one can stop us from daydreaming, can they adee?

  4. “take her offering of bisarra,
    scooped from the bubbling pot into a pottery bowl that fits in my palms as if I’d molded it.”

    oooh, the imagery is exquisite, transporting the reader into that environment simply by reading. love it (:

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