Squirming among the grains of paradise,
lost in the mystical feeling
of a soft blanch, just enough to
feel the pulpy softness of breast.
Sautéing the flesh in the rarest
of saffron, colored in red
and the gold of turmeric,
rich in thoughts and desires.
A spiritual sensation,
a sensual kitchen,
where heat of anise on fire,
flambeed with grains of alcohol,
burning within,
bursting out
of the depths of her soul.
Dusty Lynn Baker
The Heart of Home
Fire warms the stove,
warms the kitchen,
warms the home.
Elements of the past
forever necessary in our
present, your future.
The heart of home,
of sustenance,
of time.
Warrior’s Soul
Waking to a dog barking,
mother calling her name,
sounds of air whizzing by.
Lost in a world of conflict,
father gone to his grave,
younger brother hiding in the crawlspace.
A pang pulls at her stomach,
dry lips reach for the sky,
tears as her mother looks her way.
Safety is nothing to a girl
who is already starving,
already ill from the war filled waters.
One day she'll leave her home,
as she stands holding her father's rifle,
a warrior's soul forced upon her.
~ Written in memory of my Red Cross service in Kosovo, 1999-2000
Dusty Lynn Baker 