I know now why Bedouins wear black
that absorbs the white hot sun
the sadness of the land
the blood of the Mother
dense and cloying
pumped
from arid depths
in slow, deliberate rhythms.

I know now why Bedouins wear black
and move as shadows across the land
sleep-walking
deep and ancient sea beds
furrows salted with dried tears
of a thousand slaughtered buffalo.

I know now why Bedouins wear black
color of death
and of belonging to the land,
color of the wind
and its pure vast sound
of desolation.

© Linda Falorio, 1995