Stone vats of colored dyes and white liquids.
Hides of cows, sheep, goats, and camels.
The eager salesman explained the process,
how hides need to soak for two or three days
among cow urine and pigeon feces
to clean and soften the skins for the dyes,
natural colorants like indigo
and henna and poppy. Then they are dried
in the sun. Craftsmen create the products
by hand—slippers and handbags and jackets—
using methods from the Middle Ages.
Of course, their products were special, he said.
To prove the point, he lit a little flame
and held it up against the supple leather
that surprisingly seemed flame retardant.
Which leads me to think there’s no reason why
I can’t safely stride through raindrops and fire.
Well, at least it should keep me warm and dry.
Fez (or Fes), the second largest city in Morocco, has been called the “Athens of Africa” and is considered the spiritual and cultural capital of the country.
After retiring as curator of historic maps at Princeton University Library, I moved out to Port Townsend, WA, and have traveled widely, preferring remote, natural settings. Since that transition, I’ve published Waypoints (2017), a collection of place poems, Twenty Questions (2019), a chapbook, Delicate Arch (2022), poems and photographs of national parks and monuments, and Galápagos (2023), a collaborative chapbook of my son Andrew’s photographs and my poems.