OUM KHELTOUM: Texas, ca.1930 

 Oum Kheltoum, Having Newly Situated Herself 
 in the United States, Feels the Distracting Sting 
 of Bab Boujeloud's Branches: 

 "At one time I enjoyed his glances. 
 Now he casts them away 
 to others as carelessly as pebbles. 
 He doesn't know 
 What he has given up. 

 The women of my family 
 are known in our region 
 as healthy and prodigal homemakers; 
 familiar with love and the matters of daily life. 

 Marriage to one of us is as valued as 
 marriage to a princess 
 and a man's future household 
 is assured the abundance of kings. 

 The few men of my family 
 are given to genius; 
 recognized as architects of the finest stature
 often requested to attend projects 
 in larger cities far from our small town. 
 Some, however, have been weakened by sickness 
 and are stricken by madness 
 which is simply their genius turned upside down. 

 But our women are bred strong. 
 And I will marry a strong man. 
 The lines of my body are strong 
 as revealed to me in my mirror. 

 My breasts hang full and point forward 
 proffering fulfillment 
 in sex and nurturing. 
 Even my rump stands out proud 
 from the solid small of my back. 
 Better than any 
 he cares to look at. 

 Here comes the blonde 
 from the other end of our office. 
 He makes her his eyes 
 and serves them up 
 like he intends to feed her 
 feasts for the rest of her life 
 across long candlelit tables. 

 She does not respond. 
 Of course! 
 Meanwhile he peers 
 through the candles; 
 over steaming platters 
 of game 
 and she returns to her desk. 

 She will never touch him. 
 She simply plays 
 with him! He has given up 
 the opportunity with me 
 in order to consider 
 infertile, cruel, hapless 
 wax dummies like this one! 

 The thought is so clear to me! 
 It makes me laugh 
 back in my head with a release 
 and a joy which carries 
 a warmth through my body 
 and produces and image 
 at the front of my mind: 

 I am nude and giant. 
 I am laughing at this romeo 
 who is small and away from me. 
 I laugh so heartily I clutch 
 my thighs to brace myself 
 and find I am smothered in perfumed 
 oils drizzling down warm from the heavens. 

 I clutch my thighs and my hips 
 and I let him know my power. 
 I slide my hands to my buttocks 
 and massage them.  They are hot 
 and smooth and I spread them and 
 squat and rub my belly and my 
 sex over his diminished person 
 which is closer to my size now. 

 As I near him he is erect 
 and desiring of me and the saliva 
 in my mouth squirts onto my tongue. 
 I feel our magnets activate 
 and I feel his hard penis 
 through his pants 
 when I notice he dissolves 
 quickly and greasily 
 into the earth 
 like butter thrown on a hot skillet. 

 My heart pounds. 
 But he comes and goes. 
 And he notices my smile. 
 He does not look conquered. 
 Instead he captures a bit 
 of my smile 
 and passes it along 
 to the blonde 
 talking on the phone 
 at the other end of the office. 

 My loins ache for 
 muscular stimulus; 
 dreams of the smoky perfume 
 from my juices 
 blended with anothers' 
 make my jaw clench. 

 My thighs yearn to peel wide 
 and buck 
 under the fleshy percussion 
 of a man's greater 
 weight and muscle 
 stretching my core 
 lighting my skin ablaze 
 and coating it all over 
 with a layer of our sweats 
 combined 
 exciting cries 
 and a wash of energies 
 leaving me 
 momentarily blind to this world. 

 But I feel left dangling 
 like a contracted uterus; 
 which would cocoon a child 
 and gladly rip open 
 inside out 
 to present it to the world. 

 The bright lights 
 in this office feel so 
 isolating 
 and the paper on my desk 
 is dry. 

 Careers pale 
 at times 
 when the distracting force 
 is eternal." 

Post Script:
The most fascinating aspect of this piece is that it is an exact textual likeness of the works left impressed upon a wall–in blood–at a murder scene which took place inside a real estate office on March 26,1933.  The likes of which I had not run across in my twenty-odd years of research and biographies.  In north Texas, an Eastern woman had been hired to a team of
accountants posted to track the finances of a property firm which was, for that time, experiencing an unusual amount of growth caused by an unprecedented land-grab which is most likely not related to the details which I found interesting: 

According to the circumstantial evidence, they had found themselves delayed with work late into the evening and the new woman ended up slaughtering her two workmates, a man and a woman, probably as a result of stress or frustration.  She subsequently committed suicide; but not before opening a sack of potatoes and fashioning a crude set of block stamps, comprising the alphabet, with which she impressed her monologue -using the victims' blood as ink- upon the walls of their office. 

Even more interesting, is that on the anniversary of their deaths, the words then reappeared upon the walls in their original vigor to be witnessed by hopefuls wooed by local lore or faithfuls of occult publications.  The popularity of the event grew and, subsequently, the murderess even attained a nominal literary notoriety.   A more passionate poet they could have never found. 

Evidently, the building no longer exists.  There is a small town in the north of Texas which boasts, however, that the preceding
words can still be found to hover, on the same date each year, without walls, near the dumpsters behind a chain grocery store. 
I have, as of yet, no corroboration for this aspect of the story.