tunisia, yellow.

i miei vicini, my neighbors, are from tunisia. i lie on my bed with the doors to my balcony flung wide, a tank top and underwear in mid afternoon warmth, and listen to the haunting singing of indians, moslem land.
i think i hear a violin in there, shaking around with the voice like a rock in a tin can rolling down a cobble stone street.
and smell garlic.
how they can stand to start cooking so early in the day when they still cant eat is beyond my current understanding.
last night i came in and as usualy their door was wide open. their bed is just without sight, but i can see the4 sea from there. i called out a greeting and got no answer. but ten minutes later he came to my door, apologized for not responding.
he was in prayer and while in prayer they do not speak.

i wash my favorite yellow skirt, yellow victoria secret panties and grey arden b tank top with one of the tablecloths that came with the apt. it is indian too and very fragile but i put it in my new lavatrice on 90 degrees celsius anyway, hoping to rid everything here of germs.
everything comes out mud colored, occasionally a bit magenta, red, pink, orange. i kick myself but then reason that i am still young and therefore a bit stupid and will likely not be this way forever.