Karthago Delenda Est
pour mon ami depuis longtemps M.Mohamed Ali Daassa
sun, sand, surf, salt.
sun: 
shone down on us at the 
souk and on the polyglot cries of the sellers,              
surrounded by the gently shoving Moslem women
sun marked the hours we kept the fast of Ramadan,
so we walked and talked, exploring the city (look! you cried), until the 
sunset; the call of the muezzin woke me at dawn.
sand:
sitting on the beach, sharing our pasts
sifting our memories like sand through our fingers, our
sundered spirits rejoined
sculpting the sand, you searching for the Freudian symbolism
sand in our clothes, our mouths, our shoes, our hair, telling the
secrets we had hidden even from our selves.
surf:
splashing icy cold around my knees
surf spraying the fine hair on my thighs, my
skirt draped over my arm, my
sweater tied by its sleeves around my waist, my
shoes tied around my neck, one of my
socks lost in the surf; (my gift to the sea, you teased) the other in your pocket.
salt:
sown by the Romans into the ground at Carthage
settling on our skins; I smelled salt on your cheek where
sadly I kissed you farewell
separating us now, in the sea and
space between us, filling the air with desolation, the
salt of tears.
My friend, we deserved better destinies.
sun 
				sand 
								surf
salt.

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