It is the fifth of the month and I get the privilege of bring the first writer to post a piece of their writing.
This poem stems from my fascination with farmer’s markets. Where ever I have traveled I have made a point of visiting the local markets. Every community has its own personality and the market is where those who use their hands to nurture and grow are able to disperse those flavors to their fellow townspeople.
When I met my husband he quickly saw what I meant when I would refer to myself as being spicy. Depending on my mood, I bring a different palette to our day. He said that sometimes I burn him, but mostly I infuse him with my passion for life.
Enjoy this little spice tour as I review a few of my “concoctions.” And may it inspire you to visit your local markets and partake of it’s sensory delights and appreciate the spicy women in your life.
Threads of saffron, like spun gold,
the woven tapestry of my body’s framework.
As real as the blood that infuses each cell with life-giving strength.
An exquisite Turkish market perfumed with curry and turmeric,
Veils of silken mystery, enticing me to enter its sacred stalls.
The Parisian market, with its heady scents of lavender,
Provence fields inviting me to dance down its rows,
Adorned with crowns of rosemary and thyme.
The Mexican market with its summer heat,
Surpassed only by the chile’s blazing intensity,
The staying power of the oregano and cumin,
Forming the trinity of ecstasy on my palette.
The Chinese market’s joyful infusions of ginger and star anise,
Happiness spilling out of each bin like the unfettered laughter of a baby.
I am the Spice of Life.
~Trista Blouin Evans