Oasis Bridesmaids

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You told me to stay with your brothers at the

open bar, while you kicked off the

glowing shoes that tragically matched

the vomit pink of your bridesmaids’ gowns.

You bounced to join the women,

to talk with your hands,

sway pendulous and rubenesque

in neon chiffon,

spilling dark ringlets across your bare

honey shoulders.

And this, I decided, was how your people

made a home in that place.

In that barren, broken moonscape,

on the banks of a sea of salt,

punished for your hubris by an Old Testament sun,

the women danced, bare feet in the dust,

black hair pouring out in wild streams,

and the water simply rose to meet you.

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