Lahm Bi Ajin
You want me to say,
I offer, "The dough still needs a little rise.
But, try the lamb. I thought it might land
a bit limp on your tongue, so I added
a bit of a Persian twist.
Dry apricot and raisin,
cardamom, onion -
a little sweet with the savory."
In your pooling prodding eyes, just
two simple words unwritten, unspoken,
foreign to my lips,
would dab the affront of going to bed angry,
would somewhat soothe a promise broken.
I give, "Since you don't like pine-nuts,
I thought I might top with cashew,
because you adore them.
I admit I was a bit ham-handed with the cloves,
so maybe a little feta to cut the bitter a bit."
I lift a spoon to your lips.
Your eyes close curtain
as you bend toward me.
And a tear, though hesitant,
released by its own weight
on your chin,
falls into the pot.