Sauci Bosner

What a strange place to host a women’s evening.

Sixty plus worn wooden steps winding their way to the top.

Cold to the touch,  blackened banisters offered some perspective

to these times of  global turbulence and cultural transitioning.

I felt a trespasser, rumbling through worn torn pockets

searching for rusted keys amid memories of exile and exclusion.

Makeshift  masculine madness has taken its toll .

Euros, eros and pounds of flesh have raised their mighty swords

crossing deserts, stone walled cities  and partitioned valleys

casting shadows on  even this neon shadowed balcony.

Carrying cellular echoes of lives past

I entered this stainless steeled white washed Ajaxed space.

Welcoming me into this colorful circle of swirling shawls

bejeweled and bejangled arms , hands and hearts,

I took the place which is mine alone to share.

Brown green and blue eyed beauties peeled through

herstorys and timelines, sharing tales of revolution and resolution.

Laughter washed time touched cheeks, lifting collective burdens

and highlighting individuale evolutions.

Tasty tidbits  fueled our bodies while our souls took flight,

settling in sacred spaces well traveled by wild haired wimmen.

What a perfect place to open our hearts once again,

in this Jewish Morrocan mokum.