Slab-flat vowels like a block of dough
slapped down on the kneading board;
sibilant aromas of spice and fruit from afar off
mingle with crisp consonants.

Syllables roll like oranges through
the early morning marketplace; polyphonic
strangers drawn by the guttural growl
of hunger and homesickness.

So long lost in translation, the tongue
is astonished by the sudden taste of home.

This entry was posted in Holy Days, lectionary reflection, meditation, poetry, prayer and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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