Poetry at Sangam



FIRE by Niloofar Fanaiyan

the sequined edge of her gypsy skirt,
early morning rays,
brushes the hammered sides of a copper pot –
she lights the stack of wood beneath and casts the spices into its depths,
growing flames caress a rounded belly
reflecting their dance, a musical shushing
mingling with the louder light –
she reaches for a wooden spoon and stirs
the spices slowly cracking in the heat,
each one is a shade of fire,
a web of warmth of far-reaching strands –
from the first taste the end is clear,
every atom is touched
and cast into the sun