Listening to poetry is hard work.
Lovers, friends, familia:
What allows gentleness to pervail? It is the ability to slow down, the appreciation of all of our senses, the possibility that the kiss may come from an unexpected place — from a child, a Golden Retriever, a Grandfather, a waitress? If we open ourselves to the love of the world, to be ideally a lively ‘supplier’ but at a minimum a gracious ‘receiver’, might we be more forgiving and gentle towards those closest to us? This is a lovely poem of mi hermana, Rabia, food, marriage, gentleness, wine and kisses.
Salud!
Elisabet
Dinner at the Shish Cafe
by Ronnie Hess
published in Alimentum, The Literature of Food, Issue Ten
My husband surprises me over dinner by asking Rabia, our Moroccan waitress,
If she’s heard of Rabia from Basra Rabia al-Alawiyya,
The eighth century Iraqi poet, the holy woman born into poverty,
The visionary who when freed from slavery chose a lifetime of prayer.
My peace, O my brothers and sisters, is my solitude,
And my Beloved is with me always.
Muslim mothers give daughters her name. Of course, Rabia knows.
She takes our order — Syrian salad with artichokes and feta cheese.
Pea soup with potatoes,lamb and string beans stewed in tomato sauce.
She sits with us while she writes the dishes down on her pad.
She speaks English, French and Arabic. She is studying to be an architect.
She holds our wine glasses by the stem, not the lip.
The lamb comes with rice mixed with pine nuts and pomegranate seeds.
She kisses me goodnight on both cheeks.
My husband says listening to poetry is hard work. Poems are dense.
Sometimes, I let him read mine. He sits quietly. He studies them.
He edits in blue ink in the margins, he writes words like
Good, nice image, not quite right, and meaning unclear.
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