Usas Rising Poem by Martha J. Eshelman

Rosy fingers cupping
tawny breasts,
I rise
dripping
from my morning bath
to exchange
black velvet robes
for saffron silks
rippling
in the northern breeze.

Like a bad dream,
I slough off
yesterday’s aged lover,
dancing
a counterpoint beat
to the churring
of the chestnut chukkar,
a courtesan seducing
today’s love
with bangles of gold
and silver anklets.

Is there no one
to dance with me?
no one not aged
as my dancing hands
shake the die
paring away
the gambler’s pot
of his life’s days?
No one to dance with me?