I want to wear a djellabas.
Blackness engulfing me in its tentlike refuge
veiled in gauze.
Or a burkha of blue with a screen
over my face to hide
my eyes.
I want to wear rope sandals
down a dusty Afghan road on
the warmest of days
with the wind whistling
through the Khyber Pass.
I want to know the language,
taste the food,
gaze at the bearded men I pass
who will not know
I am looking at them.
They are handsome and brave in Kabul.
I want to hear the children
reciting the Koran
in their Pushtu cadence
and play upon a tabir
with a beat of
peace.
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