Spice Rack, by Mags_cat / flickr

Poem: Flavor

[Queen of Sheba]

Keep the spice rack full.
In the kitchen, the aroma quivers,
the mood shivers: sweet on Saturdays,
bitter on Wednesdays, curried Fridays.
An assault on the senses in four
bottled shelves. The rack sags,
bows. With a crack, it quakes:
cayenne, cumin, paprika, mustard
seed, onion seed, garlic, nutmeg
cinnamon, clove, oregano —
the spice-cloud hovers, thick, salty
coating every surface, like ash,
with a fine dusting of flavor.


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