The Strap of Pemba's Sandal (Thong)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Pemba, your sandal, the one with the sole from that buffalo hide, stitched in Lhasa back in 2009.
I saw it this midday, at 12:15, when the sun hit the courtyard stones, no shadows under your feet.
The strap, that narrow strip, 1.5 centimeters wide, darkened by sun and dust, looped through the sole.
It's a thong, Pemba, that's the word, from Old English thwong, like William Langland wrote in Piers Plowman, around 1370.

[Chorus]
Thong, the leather that binds your step, knotted at the side with a twist I could trace with my finger.
Rough and sticky, smelling of earth and salt breeze, it rubs against your big toe, marking the skin.
Pemba, you pace the stones, heated to 30 degrees, and the thong slaps rhythm, steady as your breath.
It's just a strap, but it holds the walk, from cell to garden, every day.

[Verse 2]
I touched it once, when you sat mending with that bone awl, punching a new hole where it wore thin.
The texture, gritty like the courtyard underfoot, warm from the sun, slightly oily from sweat.
From Mesopotamia, they say, or Egypt in 1500 BCE, fragments in the British Museum, EA 4370.
Your thong, braided maybe with yak hair, like in those Himalayan villages Dr. Tashi Norbu noted in 2007.

[Bridge]
And the cobbler who made it, unnamed, his hands lost to the record, but the knot remembers.
Pemba, does it carry a story, a gift from afar, or just your own repair, simple and sure?

[Verse 3]
In the dry season, midday light, you slip it on, the faint smell of leather mixing with ocean air.
I name it thong, Pemba, the part that fastens, binds the sole to your path.
No more than that, but in naming, it lives, specific as the awl in your pouch.

[Outro]
Thong, the strap of your sandal, holding the step.