Selecting a single rose,
soft apricot flushed pink,
and then another,
pink as pink can be,
as complement, soulmate.
And then a stem or two
of golden freesia, streaked
as if with tawny tigers
or Marrakesh sun
(wholly Berber at heart)
complete with minarets,
the mellow growling of
an august tenor saxophone.
Meditating, my heart
comes to be set on that—
a mound of Berbere on my palm,
that mixture of sultry spices
including chile powder, dusty red
(like sun-baked earth, terracotta
weathered by time), coriander,
nigella seeds, rue, ginger, fenugreek.
And I am brought back to myself
in being so entirely carried away.
image: Christie Cochrell, Freesia
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