SYMPHONY OF GOLDEN POORIES
M. Hasan
Iselin, NJ, April 4, 2009
Slowly kneading American dough
from her aged face drips
some salty spontaneous drops
oozing from stream of subconscious thoughts.
The slow motions unlock
from rheumatic finger knots
texture of deeper thoughts
tight, tense and waffle glass brittle
only she knows what they are of.
Sea deep frying pan
and the red-eyed fire beneath
the messy and greasy oily world
become heated enough
at certain point
but the lid must remain strong,
as an old habit,
she timorously thought.
Step by step she rolls the dough
as perfect moon in poorie form
the unending circles of her own,
one by one she dips them all
in scalding oil to let them puff
first silvery white and then gold brown,
thin crisp and heaved full
they remain intact holding their own
floating on a hellish stove.
Well puffed attracting smiles
but only she knows
the void inside veneer thin
is her own.
-
0 comments:
Post a Comment