my memories, they are not of Ethiolo
of small feet winding
down a dusty path to a water-well worn
with the chatter of women, girls I used to know
I can’t see the dirt, red against your ankles
hear the call of buckets to one another
sloshing in the sway of hips
flip flops mingled in the early morning light
I remember knives flying
tongues sliding
across the smooth expanse of the language we shared
stretched through our fingers as peppers danced, green
into your pan
the screech of a wheelbarrow
bare feet slapped
across the bricks, padded
through the sand
I remember
sticky heat, and
breeze through my hair
waves lapping
against a shore that curves into the distance
lost blue in a city sky
by Kekelime