Indian spices, the 50th poem (of the magical number 108)

Today I accompanied my friend Veena to Columbus to do a favor for her daughter at Ohio State. Although we had cds to play, we didn’t get to any on the drive up. We talked at length, catching up with our longer stories — too long to slip in a quick phone call or after satsang at the meditation center.

We stopped to shop at the Jeffersonville Outlet stores. I bought a badly needed pair of jeans and a cool pair of casual, almost gym shoes. We shared a latte for the ride home.

Then she fed me dinner. Wonderful homemade Indian food. She walked me through the preparation. I especially loved the little round metal open containers filled with spices unique to Indian food. I knew what some of them were; she helped me with the rest.


notice the spices roll around on your tongue.
at first not too hot, then as taste travels to the back,
the heat flushes all your karma clean (if only it were that simple)


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