hammam de la kasbah

in the main hall of the hammam, we got undressed and gave our clothes and our hesitation to a lady who put them in a cubby with everyone else's. after she took off her shirt and slid on her slippers, she led us through a tunnel of tiles and arched ceilings and poured bucket after bucket of warm water on the floor so it wouldnt be cold when she laid us down, each naked, and scrubbed off twenty-five years of skin, tired and old from shielding us to the affront of the world. and when she got to my face, she even did my nose, and after noticing my nose stud sneaking out, she stopped everything and just dabbed it pack into place. and then she laughed and did my forehead, checking every now and again to see that the stud wasnt lost.

she scrubbed and she washed and she shampooed us and she washed and then she gave us massages. she flipped brianne like a fish on the cutting block and straddled her back. her dark hair was tied back in a silky bun, and her round cheeks hung like mini breasts qbove her real ones as she bent over, face burrowed in the space between them, to give brie the massage. never hurried, always thoughtful, she worked on her with hands strong and strongly lacking any judgment. when she finished she slid brianne along the floor and out of the way for me. and with each knead she emptied me of myself--of my pride and my reservation and my irish shell and the one-eyed cat outside and the catcalls waiting to find us and the temper of desperate men at nighttime. she pushed it all away and into the water running along the tile floor, so that when i stood up it was like my memory had been erased and i was just a girl standing on a tile floor waiting for someone to tell me what to do.

she took us by the hand and tilted our heads back, and made sure the oatmeal soap stayed out of our eyes as she let loose the buckets of warm water over our new skin.
and we walked out more naked and more comfortable than when we had come in. shining and ready to do it all again.