The Women in the Medina

Still bugs 

Their sleep 

Their veil 

If they are dead

They do not tiptoe

Across our walls

They are smeared

Across our countertops 

Only their bulging eyes showing

Only their fragile bodies 

Waiting for the water 

To turn on 

And wash them all away 

Bug stew

Black arms and legs 

All squashed together and 

Still bugs

Author's Note

it's about the women in the medina