http://thelongestisland.blogspot.com/2015/07/downtown-brooklyn-journal-of-writing.html
Downtown Brooklyn: A Journal of Writing Issue# 25, pages 57 to 59
Downtown Brooklyn: A Journal of Writing Issue# 25, pages 57 to 59
“Hang
on,” my mother says softly
“I am arranging the
table.”
I
look on while she pours Kehwa
to
fondle the ceramic sides of the cup.
The
saffron antennas of Kehwa
sleek
nectar of saffron
twigs,
gold rods/and coral/
a
color yellow to orange
like
a kaleidoscope, that alloys
the
hints of cracked cardamoms
against
their own amber
or
taste as pomegranates
full
and fine of the lilacs
sweet
to tongue and sound to eye
Or morsels like almond pearls
and
beads of the rosary
film
rising to the top
Or
bamboo-like cinnamon sticks hazel with tinge
fresh
from the vine.
Its framework a glitter
of ashen-gold porcelain cup
over saucer.
My father sitting across from me
tips the cup up, sips the last of it.
It is the saffron vineyard room
not far from red-gold fields
where ashen
sparrows peck at cherries—
their copious
meal
a
genteel wazwan in rose-water—
melted
minced meat
flavor
blown
that
tastes
rista : coral lamb/ mini ovals.
It’s the seasoned vineyard field
not far from our saffron room
where the
ceremonial gustuba lamb balls sizzle,
sheets
of yogurt smoke soaring from it
everyday
through the Sun that hangs at noon
and sets at night
everyday
through a yoke of tangerine that
soothes mingled flavors
everyday
through a rising tide of fragrances
that last and swell.
Everyday
everything
becomes a yoke of tangerine.
