Lingering

Aya pulled me to her room.

From a plain red box she took a crinkled blue tube.

Rested my arm on hers.

Starting from the top of my forearm she began.

Swirling the soft, burned carmel-colored henna into precise, intricate patterns.

Familiar flowers infused with exotic twists,

Eyes and even peacocks emerging from a labrytinth,

Curved patterns extended to the tips of my fingers,

Symbols and shapes flowed from her hand,

Spreading down to mine,  

unlike any I had seen at home.