ON THE FRINGE
*For my friend, Marlon, a scribe who blazes, but with a green thumb! Spirit! Yah!
Love from your Cousin, that vanilla chick with the chocolate swirl heart
I took you to the A M African Restaurant in Kitchener. I LOVED this place and when
it closed, wept like a baby.
Scribe, I think you’d have loved it.. total diversity, peace-brews! Like an
interplanetary love fest where food is king.
The place I worked was fairly close to this oasis… True story, so here I am going on
Maternity leave and my boss/friend asks me… we want to throw you a party,
WHAT FOOD DO YOU WANT?
When I said African, she was delighted. The other employees who are sweet,
Lovely ladies but about as WASP as you can get, were intimidated. So there I am,
belly so big it had its own address, saying forget you pickles and ice cream,
or those cutsy wootsy finger sandwiches... ta heck with crudités.
gimme turmeric, gimme zest!
Once they tried the food, they loved it! Oh, Ethiopian food ROCKS!
More in blog, soon…
and post notes and photos about your poem.
ON THE FRINGE
Your eyes drink the hues of the Shisha Lounge:
art on walls and art brewing over charcoal.
This coffee ceremony is on the fringe,
far from the pallid and staid. I’ve marveled
at these dear blends, how culture can transcend
barriers and ignorance. We order too much.
Tibsy, zignie, timtimo.. injera bends
to each spiced delicacy as our plates touch.
Gone is this haven where pleasure was shared.
Still, I’ll bring you there. Scribe, man of integrity,
sit with me. Exhale poetry. Imbibe tribal air.
Mine, this moment and mine, this memory
but that mystifying brew, that receptive floor,
the smoke refined by deep respect… each are yours.