Yesterday

Ms. Haiku

He told her about the saffron trade while they dined on tapas and dissertations.
He made up stories of his grandmother smuggling prized threads,
but quickly revealed his fictional skills when she appeared too trusting.

The next road outlined on the map curved uphill
towards the town plaza and fountain.
Her camera swung near her hips.
The useless bumping of an unused weight
she blamed on the blank brightness of the sun.
Around her wrist she snuggly wrapped a silk scarf
folded around a few strands of saffron.

She didn’t stop when her heart beat faster uphill
or when she choked down the breath of the villagers’ beautiful day.
She valued the sensation of struggling, the battle fought
against a sterilized early evening.

He turned away from her as if to sneeze,
and she flattened her hands against his spine.
She felt the voiceless pain, humiliated within a hospital gown.

She saw the fountain; a voice for loyalty, age, idle hands, and carvings.
She cupped her hands into the cold fountain water
and brought them to her face. The shock of cold
pushes her back with water running down her arms and neck.

The women standing near bicycles
run to the stranger falling to her knees.
They see the blood trickle down her arm,
and they investigate what sharp edge has caused such pain.

DopeBeastie

Ms. Haiku

Is it clear that the "blood" running down her arm is actually from the saffron threads when they were soaked?

DopeBeastie

this is probably laughable, but... i thought saffron was yellow so. no. not in my bubble... a smarter person might've gotten that ~ but that smarter person isn't me.

the reason i liked this so well is that i thought some mysterious affect to the physical had taken place

like the cold water itself had little sharp edges that cut her hands

and that made me go "wow"


i'm wierd, huh?

wierd and dumb... everything i've ever aspired to be

Ms. Haiku

Actually, I asked the question because I wondered if people wouldn't get the connection to saffron because many people think of it as yellow. Well, when it's in risotto it's yellow, you know. So, if I decide to change this poem, I will have the spice be a definite red spice instead of one where dry it is red, and wet it is yellow. The drama behind a poem - it's amazing!

Ms. Haiku

tchaliz wrote:

hi haiku lady,
you could try paprika...cayenne pepper...but no 'plaza" then, it's a question of geography... ai ai ai en que lio te as metido dios mio de mi almaaaa!
T

Hey T, so where paprika and cayenne pepper are grown where do people meet? Is there a word for the town square? Actually, could they fit in a scarf wrapped around a person's wrist? See, see, saffron was just so appropriate because it comes in threads . . . *shakes head* boo hoo. My poem doesn't make sense boo hoo.

By the way, what did you write? I see the "my God" but you lost me for the rest there

Also, Ms. Pasta, I thought your analysis was right on.

Ms. Haiku

tchaliz wrote:

"my god from my soul you've got yourself a nice problem"
T

Can I put that in my sig line, and reference you? i.e,

ai ai ai en que lio te as metido dios mio de mi almaaaa! - Tchaliz