Friday, April 10, 2009

Spice Bazaar

The spice bazaar is redolent of places
far away, of hazy desert spaces
echoing muezzin's voices saying
"Allahu akbar!", and donkeys braying
as they're strapped into the cargo-traces.

Travelers with seamed and canny faces
share sweet coffee and formal embraces
while they price the goods that they're conveying
to the spice bazaar.

But I'm not in a land of camel-races.
Samarkand's not in these Safeway cases
gleaming in flourescent light. I'm weighing
out an ounce of cinnamon. My straying
odor-fed imagination graces
the spice bazaar.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside


Ruth said...

I love this!

Jamie said...

This poem is wonderful. You can smell the scents so strong the taste lingers on your tongue as they float on heat waves is far away places.