top of page

Belly Dancers

for Artie Gold   (1/15/1947 – 2/14/2007)


bereft this very day of wasted body,

maybe you walked into the restaurant

just as we raised glasses of Sardinian wine

to belly dancers in Valentine’s Day fedoras,

Maybe you followed their musk, eyed tattooed midriffs

peeking from velvet halters,  entranced by bangled

arms following beat of cymbals and drum,

kohl-dark eyes enticing you,

bereft of body to feed and tongue to taste,

desire habit revived

by glint of bells around luscious hips.

“Who am I to not want

  the warmth of the flame,”

  you’d ask in a poem.

Tonight, friend,

a harem undulates for you,

waving scarves to speed you

on your long way.



Claudia Lapp 2/2010

bottom of page