img_1668Henna on her hands,
she walks the streets.
Henna on her hands,
she braids her sister’s hair.
To color her hair,
a soft mound of henna
in a rounded gourd
next to her sister’s ankles;
her sister sits on a straw mat,
legs outstretched.
On the henna plant grows
fragrant white flowers;
an extract from the henna
leaves a dark-colored dye
for your hair, your palms,
the soles of your feet.
No henna on my hands,
my hair, my feet;
henna in my pen,
on the page that was blank.

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