Love Soup

Eggnog sunshine
seeps through the blinds –
warms the kitchen’s beams
as do the flames in a range,
black-leaded and handsome,
from a bygone age.

The larder –
shelves stacked high
with jars. His life’s work,
almost; hand-written labels –
names which are poems
in themselves...

anise – sweet laurel,
zesty za’atar spice...French
lavender, blue, nutty nigella,
green cardamom, and steeped
in sugar vanilla beans.

Tonight he’ll win her heart
with his haute cuisine;
pink peppercorns, curled
cinnamon bark – hillocks
painstakingly measured
onto squares of foil.

A kind of sacred quiet
abounds here...a reverent
stillness...like a prayer
you can all but taste
in the fragrant heat

of ochre amchoor, ginger
root and the bitter fruit pod
of bishop’s weed, pungent
fenugreek, and in each
tiny mustard seed.