Jill Rees: Welcome Press

Kissing underwater

You raise your scimitar arm
and scowl, eyes like slits, the wind
raising dust behind you.
This is how things used to be.

We will take the hot train,
wiping our eyes and wrapping
our scarves again around
our heads. We will watch
the grey desert, expecting to see
camels, but through the haze
cars scream down the highway
to Ankara.

You order the boy to bring
tea on his silver tray
as I smile at the women
sat closely shoulder to
shoulder, and the shy children
clinging to each other start
to giggle. You grin and
soon they are sitting on
our laps and the women
are taking tea, dropping
cubes of sugar in the
decorated glasses.

When I breathe, the dry
heat scorches my throat,
and when we kiss the
sweat on our lips moistens
our mouths. It is like kissing
underwater.

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