Poem: "Closely Related to Memory"
Sep. 25th, 2022 10:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysabetwordsmithThis poem is spillover from the August 2, 2022 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by a prompt from hangingbyastitch. It also fills the "Action" square in my 8-1-22 card for the Reel Time Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with ng_moonmoth. It belongs to the Aquariana thread of the Polychrome Heroics series.
Warning: This poem includes intense feels and reference to past slavery. Most of it is a very happy reunion between old friends.
"Closely Related to Memory"
[Tuesday, April 7, 2015]
Aidan left Saraphina and Drew
to explore Kurumba Village.
The two of them planned
to visit the Majaa Kids Club,
which was now a combination
of day care and school as well
as a drop-in fun club for children.
It was just a short walk from
Aidan's beachfront bungalow
to the little restaurant-café that
President Latheef recommended.
In the original resort, Al Qasr had been
a Middle Eastern/Arabian restaurant
whose name meant 'The Castle,' and
had now become Memories Castle,
supposedly a gathering place for
immortal and long-lived people.
The front was festive red and yellow,
with glass windows showing rows
of tables and chairs just inside,
busy with action and customers.
Moving gracefully between them
was a slender woman dressed in
a gray blouse with lace trim and
a hand-painted silk sarong done in
pink and green Maldivian roses.
Dazzling white hair tumbled down
her back in waves, startling against
chocolate skin with a hint of cinnamon.
Her eyes were a clear sky blue.
Aidan's breath caught in his throat.
He knew that woman, although
he hadn't seen her in centuries.
The two of them had met
almost a thousand years ago
now, in the slave market of
a city long gone to dust.
Even now, Aidan could
remember the smell of
sun-baked clay and hear
the trilling call to prayer.
The Fatimid Caliphate
then spanned the whole
of North Africa -- nearly half
the Mediterranean Sea --
and down the Red Sea
to the Gulf of Aden.
It had been one of
the few places where
slaves could actually rise
to positions of influence,
or even earn their freedom.
People of many races had
milled around the cities, and
the slave market had been
a riot of different colors.
The two of them had been
bought by the same master
for their unusual coloring, then
pampered for their unusual skills.
He had called them his sun
and his star, for their hair,
the auburn and the silver.
Unlike most masters, he
had been kind enough
that his slaves didn't feel
compelled to cut his throat.
It hadn't been a bad life,
all told, while it had lasted.
They became friends, and
kept in touch as best they
could as they drifted around
Africa and Europe over the years.
The two of them had lost track of
each other somewhere between
the American Revolution and
the Civil War, trying to teach
the newly-minted Americans
why slavery was not only
unethical but dangerous.
Some those still didn't really
grasp that fact, which was
one reason why Aidan had
gone to the Maldives to set up
an emergency exit strategy.
He needed to make sure that
his old friend was all right.
Taking a deep breath,
Aidan stepped inside.
The rich, spicy fragrance
of Middle Eastern cuisine
rolled over him, making
Aidan pause in midstep.
As soon as she saw him,
her quicksilver power
danced over his skin.
She frowned a moment
in confusion, then brightened.
"It's so good to see you again!"
she said, kissing his cheeks.
"You look different, though."
Aidan sighed. His skin,
now a dusty cinnamon,
was almost midnight
when they first met.
"I ran into Nazi mayhem
back in World War II,"
he said. "I'd rather
not go into detail."
"Of course," she said.
"I'm Soheila now."
She must feel safe,
if she was wearing
a name that referenced
her powers so openly --
it meant 'star' in Arabic.
"Aidan," he said. He'd
been using a different one
a thousand years ago too.
Times changed, after all.
"Will you join me in the kitchen,
for old times' sake?" Soheila said.
"I have staff who can take over
the rest of the restaurant."
"I can't cook," Aidan confessed.
"That's something else I lost."
"Can you still forage?" she said.
"Yes," said Aidan. "I've started
studying the plants that grow here."
He hadn't slept well last night.
Not wanting to wake Saraphina
or Drew, Aidan had snuck out
to the porch and read about
edible plants of the Maldives.
They were everywhere -- he'd
tripped on a sweet potato vine
growing wild in his new yard.
"Then come," Soheila said,
beckoning him to follow. She
waved to her staff, who nodded.
They would take over now.
Aidan went with her,
and she led him to
a courtyard walled in
brick and lined with
countless potted plants.
Small trees leaned against
the walls. He saw key lime,
guava, and pomegranate.
Lemongrass spilled over
the edges of the path.
Malabar spinach and
purslane grew wild
on the ground, while
the Mediterranean herbs
had to be raised in pots
so the tropical rains
wouldn't drown them.
Mint, parsley, and
cilantro blended with
the arching ferns.
"This is beautiful,"
said Aidan. "Like
a little slice of Eden."
Soheila smiled. "Here's
the real garden," she said,
opening a door in the wall.
Beyond it a wooden fence
framed the café's back yard.
Sandy paths framed raised beds
of local herbs and vegetables.
Fruit bushes, dwarf bananas,
and coconut palms clustered
along the edges and in the middle.
"We don't grow everything here,
of course, but we do what we can,"
said Soheila. "Every little bit helps."
An island nation often struggled
to feed itself. The Maldives was
blessed with fruit and fish, but had
fewer vegetables and no room
to grow grains like rice or wheat.
All of that had to be imported.
No wondered they courted
teleporters, whether those
carried passengers or cargo.
If the rest of the world wasn't
careful, they'd wind up begging
the Maldives to borrow a few of
the cargo teleporters, and be lucky
if any of them agreed to come.
"I've missed this," Aidan said.
"The walled gardens, like
a private oasis." One corner
even had a waterfall trickling
into a pool, shaded by ferns
and miniature palms.
"Go, pick whatever you
like," Soheila invited.
"Make us a green salad,
or a fruit salad, or both.
I'll make some kofta
and a nice flatbread."
He'd missed that too,
cooking with whatever
you could find at the time.
Modern people went
shopping for things.
"I'll pick something good,"
Aidan promised her.
He wandered through
the garden and courtyard,
trailing his fingertips over
the different plants with
long-familiar actions.
He could feel which ones
were ready for harvesting.
Aidan picked up a pair of
gathering baskets so he
could collect fruit in one
and vegetables in the other.
Along with the tropical greens,
he found a terracotta trough full of
'Deadbolt' lettuce, whose leaves
formed small rosettes of gray-green
that resisted the sun's heat.
That and some herbs would
make a lovely green salad.
Another container held sage,
thyme, and wild oregano.
By the time Aidan's steps
turned back toward the door,
the fruit basket hung heavy
and fragrant at his elbow.
Soheila was kneeling before
an old-fashioned stove made
by stacking stones around
and over a tiny cookfire.
To one side, a similar setup
without the fire provided
a countertop for preparation.
"I'm surprised you even have
this here," he said with a smile.
"It's an anchor," Soheila explained.
"Feasting is closely related to memory.
We eat certain things in a particular way
in order to remember who we are."
"That we do," Aidan agreed
as he set down the baskets.
"It was a good gathering."
Soheila had already started
the kofta cooking, alongside
flatbread and onion petals.
"So I see," she said happily.
"Here, I have olive oil, vinegar,
lemons, and spices. What do
you want for salad dressings?"
"Just vinegar for fruit," Aidan said.
Quickly he cut the guavas, bananas,
and other things, then sloshed vinegar
over them so they wouldn't brown.
"Why people put sugar on fruit
is beyond me. It's already sweet!"
"Modern people put sugar on
everything," Soheila said. "Here,
I brought fresh grapes to add."
"Grapes, grain, and olives,"
Aidan said. "The three foods
that lay the foundation of a feast."
"I brought olives for the green salad,
too," said Soheila. "We still need
to make a topping for that one."
"Do you remember that dressing
with sumac and lemon?" Aidan said.
"I remember," Soheila said. She
took the finished flatbread off of
the rock and added more dough
to it with brisk and efficient actions.
Then she picked up the lemons and
began making the salad dressing.
Soon the simple meal was ready.
There was no wine, of course,
not in a Muslim country, but
there was water with slices
of lemon, cucumber, and mint --
and ice. Aidan would never
get over the luxury of ice.
They piled the kofta and
onions on flatbread, topping
that with spiced yogurt.
It was savory, spicy,
and sour all at once.
Aidan may have moaned
a little. It had been so long.
He had eaten kofta at
restaurants, but it just
wasn't the same as this.
The green salad was fresh
and zippy, its flavors familiar
and different at the same time,
like the ever-changing colors
inside of a kaleidoscope.
The fruit salad offered
the bright, sweet-tart taste
that he remembered so fondly.
They didn't need dessert.
The fruit was sweet enough.
At the end, they sat back
with happy sighs, smiling.
"It's so good to remember
the past," Aidan said, "with
someone who was there too."
"That's why I'm here," said Soheila.
"I'm hoping that more of our people
will find their way here eventually."
"President Latheef suggested that
I come here, though he didn't
give much detail," said Aidan.
"That should help," Soheila said.
"Are you staying in the Maldives,
or just visiting on vacation?"
"A little of both, actually,"
said Aidan. "It's complicated.
I've been living in California, but ...
with one thing and another, I felt
a need for a backup plan. Now I
have a private island up north and
a bungalow in Kurumba Village."
"Both?" said Soheila. "I'm not
surprised you got an island, but
the offer is usually one or the other."
"Technically the island is mine
and the bungalow belongs to
my daughter Saraphina," he said.
"I'll introduce you to my family later."
"I would love that," Soheila said.
"I've missed you so much, old friend."
"I've missed you too," said Aidan.
"We can catch up now, though.
We have all the time in the world."
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes appear separately.
hangingbyastitch. It also fills the "Action" square in my 8-1-22 card for the Reel Time Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with ng_moonmoth. It belongs to the Aquariana thread of the Polychrome Heroics series.Warning: This poem includes intense feels and reference to past slavery. Most of it is a very happy reunion between old friends.
"Closely Related to Memory"
[Tuesday, April 7, 2015]
Aidan left Saraphina and Drew
to explore Kurumba Village.
The two of them planned
to visit the Majaa Kids Club,
which was now a combination
of day care and school as well
as a drop-in fun club for children.
It was just a short walk from
Aidan's beachfront bungalow
to the little restaurant-café that
President Latheef recommended.
In the original resort, Al Qasr had been
a Middle Eastern/Arabian restaurant
whose name meant 'The Castle,' and
had now become Memories Castle,
supposedly a gathering place for
immortal and long-lived people.
The front was festive red and yellow,
with glass windows showing rows
of tables and chairs just inside,
busy with action and customers.
Moving gracefully between them
was a slender woman dressed in
a gray blouse with lace trim and
a hand-painted silk sarong done in
pink and green Maldivian roses.
Dazzling white hair tumbled down
her back in waves, startling against
chocolate skin with a hint of cinnamon.
Her eyes were a clear sky blue.
Aidan's breath caught in his throat.
He knew that woman, although
he hadn't seen her in centuries.
The two of them had met
almost a thousand years ago
now, in the slave market of
a city long gone to dust.
Even now, Aidan could
remember the smell of
sun-baked clay and hear
the trilling call to prayer.
The Fatimid Caliphate
then spanned the whole
of North Africa -- nearly half
the Mediterranean Sea --
and down the Red Sea
to the Gulf of Aden.
It had been one of
the few places where
slaves could actually rise
to positions of influence,
or even earn their freedom.
People of many races had
milled around the cities, and
the slave market had been
a riot of different colors.
The two of them had been
bought by the same master
for their unusual coloring, then
pampered for their unusual skills.
He had called them his sun
and his star, for their hair,
the auburn and the silver.
Unlike most masters, he
had been kind enough
that his slaves didn't feel
compelled to cut his throat.
It hadn't been a bad life,
all told, while it had lasted.
They became friends, and
kept in touch as best they
could as they drifted around
Africa and Europe over the years.
The two of them had lost track of
each other somewhere between
the American Revolution and
the Civil War, trying to teach
the newly-minted Americans
why slavery was not only
unethical but dangerous.
Some those still didn't really
grasp that fact, which was
one reason why Aidan had
gone to the Maldives to set up
an emergency exit strategy.
He needed to make sure that
his old friend was all right.
Taking a deep breath,
Aidan stepped inside.
The rich, spicy fragrance
of Middle Eastern cuisine
rolled over him, making
Aidan pause in midstep.
As soon as she saw him,
her quicksilver power
danced over his skin.
She frowned a moment
in confusion, then brightened.
"It's so good to see you again!"
she said, kissing his cheeks.
"You look different, though."
Aidan sighed. His skin,
now a dusty cinnamon,
was almost midnight
when they first met.
"I ran into Nazi mayhem
back in World War II,"
he said. "I'd rather
not go into detail."
"Of course," she said.
"I'm Soheila now."
She must feel safe,
if she was wearing
a name that referenced
her powers so openly --
it meant 'star' in Arabic.
"Aidan," he said. He'd
been using a different one
a thousand years ago too.
Times changed, after all.
"Will you join me in the kitchen,
for old times' sake?" Soheila said.
"I have staff who can take over
the rest of the restaurant."
"I can't cook," Aidan confessed.
"That's something else I lost."
"Can you still forage?" she said.
"Yes," said Aidan. "I've started
studying the plants that grow here."
He hadn't slept well last night.
Not wanting to wake Saraphina
or Drew, Aidan had snuck out
to the porch and read about
edible plants of the Maldives.
They were everywhere -- he'd
tripped on a sweet potato vine
growing wild in his new yard.
"Then come," Soheila said,
beckoning him to follow. She
waved to her staff, who nodded.
They would take over now.
Aidan went with her,
and she led him to
a courtyard walled in
brick and lined with
countless potted plants.
Small trees leaned against
the walls. He saw key lime,
guava, and pomegranate.
Lemongrass spilled over
the edges of the path.
Malabar spinach and
purslane grew wild
on the ground, while
the Mediterranean herbs
had to be raised in pots
so the tropical rains
wouldn't drown them.
Mint, parsley, and
cilantro blended with
the arching ferns.
"This is beautiful,"
said Aidan. "Like
a little slice of Eden."
Soheila smiled. "Here's
the real garden," she said,
opening a door in the wall.
Beyond it a wooden fence
framed the café's back yard.
Sandy paths framed raised beds
of local herbs and vegetables.
Fruit bushes, dwarf bananas,
and coconut palms clustered
along the edges and in the middle.
"We don't grow everything here,
of course, but we do what we can,"
said Soheila. "Every little bit helps."
An island nation often struggled
to feed itself. The Maldives was
blessed with fruit and fish, but had
fewer vegetables and no room
to grow grains like rice or wheat.
All of that had to be imported.
No wondered they courted
teleporters, whether those
carried passengers or cargo.
If the rest of the world wasn't
careful, they'd wind up begging
the Maldives to borrow a few of
the cargo teleporters, and be lucky
if any of them agreed to come.
"I've missed this," Aidan said.
"The walled gardens, like
a private oasis." One corner
even had a waterfall trickling
into a pool, shaded by ferns
and miniature palms.
"Go, pick whatever you
like," Soheila invited.
"Make us a green salad,
or a fruit salad, or both.
I'll make some kofta
and a nice flatbread."
He'd missed that too,
cooking with whatever
you could find at the time.
Modern people went
shopping for things.
"I'll pick something good,"
Aidan promised her.
He wandered through
the garden and courtyard,
trailing his fingertips over
the different plants with
long-familiar actions.
He could feel which ones
were ready for harvesting.
Aidan picked up a pair of
gathering baskets so he
could collect fruit in one
and vegetables in the other.
Along with the tropical greens,
he found a terracotta trough full of
'Deadbolt' lettuce, whose leaves
formed small rosettes of gray-green
that resisted the sun's heat.
That and some herbs would
make a lovely green salad.
Another container held sage,
thyme, and wild oregano.
By the time Aidan's steps
turned back toward the door,
the fruit basket hung heavy
and fragrant at his elbow.
Soheila was kneeling before
an old-fashioned stove made
by stacking stones around
and over a tiny cookfire.
To one side, a similar setup
without the fire provided
a countertop for preparation.
"I'm surprised you even have
this here," he said with a smile.
"It's an anchor," Soheila explained.
"Feasting is closely related to memory.
We eat certain things in a particular way
in order to remember who we are."
"That we do," Aidan agreed
as he set down the baskets.
"It was a good gathering."
Soheila had already started
the kofta cooking, alongside
flatbread and onion petals.
"So I see," she said happily.
"Here, I have olive oil, vinegar,
lemons, and spices. What do
you want for salad dressings?"
"Just vinegar for fruit," Aidan said.
Quickly he cut the guavas, bananas,
and other things, then sloshed vinegar
over them so they wouldn't brown.
"Why people put sugar on fruit
is beyond me. It's already sweet!"
"Modern people put sugar on
everything," Soheila said. "Here,
I brought fresh grapes to add."
"Grapes, grain, and olives,"
Aidan said. "The three foods
that lay the foundation of a feast."
"I brought olives for the green salad,
too," said Soheila. "We still need
to make a topping for that one."
"Do you remember that dressing
with sumac and lemon?" Aidan said.
"I remember," Soheila said. She
took the finished flatbread off of
the rock and added more dough
to it with brisk and efficient actions.
Then she picked up the lemons and
began making the salad dressing.
Soon the simple meal was ready.
There was no wine, of course,
not in a Muslim country, but
there was water with slices
of lemon, cucumber, and mint --
and ice. Aidan would never
get over the luxury of ice.
They piled the kofta and
onions on flatbread, topping
that with spiced yogurt.
It was savory, spicy,
and sour all at once.
Aidan may have moaned
a little. It had been so long.
He had eaten kofta at
restaurants, but it just
wasn't the same as this.
The green salad was fresh
and zippy, its flavors familiar
and different at the same time,
like the ever-changing colors
inside of a kaleidoscope.
The fruit salad offered
the bright, sweet-tart taste
that he remembered so fondly.
They didn't need dessert.
The fruit was sweet enough.
At the end, they sat back
with happy sighs, smiling.
"It's so good to remember
the past," Aidan said, "with
someone who was there too."
"That's why I'm here," said Soheila.
"I'm hoping that more of our people
will find their way here eventually."
"President Latheef suggested that
I come here, though he didn't
give much detail," said Aidan.
"That should help," Soheila said.
"Are you staying in the Maldives,
or just visiting on vacation?"
"A little of both, actually,"
said Aidan. "It's complicated.
I've been living in California, but ...
with one thing and another, I felt
a need for a backup plan. Now I
have a private island up north and
a bungalow in Kurumba Village."
"Both?" said Soheila. "I'm not
surprised you got an island, but
the offer is usually one or the other."
"Technically the island is mine
and the bungalow belongs to
my daughter Saraphina," he said.
"I'll introduce you to my family later."
"I would love that," Soheila said.
"I've missed you so much, old friend."
"I've missed you too," said Aidan.
"We can catch up now, though.
We have all the time in the world."
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes appear separately.
Feasting and memory
Date: 2022-09-26 04:39 am (UTC)We eat certain things in a particular way
in order to remember who we are."
You DO know what day this is?! (For those who don't: It's 1 Tishrei 5783.) Our next dinner is fish, green beans, carrots, and apples and honey for dessert. All of these have meaning, but the apples and honey are the most important part.
And may this new year completely, totally, and in all other ways utterly FAIL TO SUCK.
Re: Feasting and memory
Date: 2022-09-26 05:50 am (UTC)<3 synchronicity.
>>And may this new year completely, totally, and in all other ways utterly FAIL TO SUCK.<<
So mote it be!
Re: Feasting and memory
Date: 2022-09-26 12:53 pm (UTC)Re: Feasting and memory
Date: 2022-09-26 03:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2022-09-26 01:12 pm (UTC)I really enjoyed this!
Thank you!
Date: 2022-09-26 07:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2022-09-30 11:50 pm (UTC)Yes ...
Date: 2022-10-01 01:02 am (UTC)