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by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

Years after he's gone,
over marmalade toast
and Darjeeling tea,
she still reads
his daily horoscope
in the crossword section
of the local newspaper,

Wonders if this Virgo
took that long journey
espoused last summer
when her own
Gemini horoscope
warned her to stay
close to home.

Pictures him
in white linen trousers,
young brown-skinned girls
interpreting, with a subtle wiggle
of hips, the hula…
while shadows cast by flames
from tiki torches
dance on woven straw-mat walls
of palm-frond roofed huts.

Imagines him
in an embroidered
kaftan and keffiyeh
riding camels and Arab steeds
out across the desert
to the pyramids at Saqqara

Or adorned in a pith helmet
and starched
Cabella's safari jacket,
climbing Huayna Picchu.
The ancient lost city of the Incas,
shrouded in mists,
far below him.
He pauses to take in the view
and to shoot a selfie.

She remembers him
in a coral coloured
short-sleeved shirt
and blue denims
walking by her side
in bluebell forests
by mountain streams

But remembers mostly
the inconvenient way
he now waltzes
through her dreams.


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