one magical night
under the spectacular sky
in Morocco’s gorgeous Larache,
we all were tucked in love’s heart-laughter
sips of Turkish coffee, Americana,
sweets and tri-lingual chats galore
amid the eager eyes of some passersby
with interest to sell us jewelery for the fantasy
my dear family in Morocco
yet once again had connected with us
in the deepest depth of our souls that night
our spirits had conjoined
and were dancing unabashedly
in open air to our beings’ content
“there is a shop just around the corner . . .”
an invite after our several other delightful stops
was too appealing to resist
we had, after all, taken in
the aromas, the delicate tastes,
the visuals, the sounds earlier that day
and during all the enchanting days before
in that “shop just around the corner”
is where i met my Moroccan sandals
they were on display one minute,
snuggling against my feet, the next
after returning home,
i did not wear them for a long time
as far as i was concerned,
they were going to stay intact,
looking as pristine as they did
in that lovely “shop just around the corner”
i only wore them for special occasions . . .
today, however, i had them on,
caressingly, ever so tenderly
only in the car, safely tucked around my feet
but when we spotted a bluest-sky-kind of-beach
like those in my warmest memories from my country of birth
on our way right by a Vista Point in California,
i could not help but take my feet
for a child-like carefree outing
to the sands of the “Monastery Beach”
i did not get my sandals wet, though
oh no!
they stayed in my dry hands the entire time,
cuddling with me ever so snuggly,
caressing me with the love
of my Moroccan family
(c) hülya n yılmaz, June 27, 2019
[The sandals I am wearing in the picture are not the protagonists of my poem . . .]
hülyaswritings 