She came naked
the dancer i mean
smooth skinned like an infant's folds
and there was no knowing her hate

She did not look me in the face,
not when she bore the broken calabash
whence she took it i do not know
not even now,
did we not send it away from these shores
bearing testimonies of this symphony,
mine red, hers red ?

She dashed it at my feet
(and there was no repose),
and she retreated in the dance of the dragon
and i was left,
just me,
and the broken calabash.

Copyright 2006 Yeremi Bolton
www.poetrypen.com/yeremibolton