My Body

The hard bench,
the slowly gliding hand
into the folds.

You give me the silver shilling,
I taste the slippery tanginess of
the mango laced with salt and chili.

You press your index finger to your lips,
“Sshh,” you say.
Our ritual meetings—
The meeting of a 3-year-old and the 50.

Low Vibrations

When he said that he treasured my softness,
I knew that he thought that I was
A field of flowers,
Waiting to be plucked.

He thought,
My softness was a scent,
That I could purify him.

Little did he know,
That my softness covered me
alone,
like petals on a stem.

Tee (Takwa) Sharif is a writer and social worker from Salt Lake City, Utah. She holds a Master of Arts in English with minors in literacy and comparative literature. She enjoys teaching, learning, running, and the mountains.