moving traffic

Like earrings, his voice in my ears
all these years later.

I walked to the bakery.
He waited for me behind the oak trees.

I wore black dress, black shoes, and a black ring
Under my burqa, blue, blue, and blue.

“I wish I could see your lips,” he said,
but I could barely hear.

I whispered with my lips,
“I wish I could tell you

I love you,
I love you.”

By N.

Photo by Yoray Liberman