Forget the world, forget your home,
But don’t forget the dancers
who dream about their land from far
And mistake our strange dark skies as foreign-
But first they pour the tea, then they pour their souls
Into swirling satin strips of see-through robes,
Their hips beating the techno of the lit Turkish Café.
They will remember every dollar
Strapped close to their core –
Anatolian flowers bloom in deserts most of all.
My puff of hookah filled the sky
And turned the pale white moon bright orange
When a pretty blossom still in bloom
Ensured my tweed suit vanished,
Replaced with a white robe to make up what was missed.
I joined humanity as lavished by the Turks,
While we trod upon the dancers who kept our spaces filled –
The darkness of the dance makes us forget its day outside
And that the coming winter will freeze our party over –
But in the Middle East you know the only white is stone,
And the only snow that fell was the ash of dancers’ hearts.
Morning's Early Dark 