Bamboozle your feet with humble dusts of coriander

It's my turn to add to the Progressive Poem launched by Irene on April 1, a prospect which is both thrilling and threatening.  To Lori, who wrote the last line and passed the poem to me, claiming to be out of her league, I say "Nay!"  You followed on Amy's line by choosing to employ that workhorse of poetic technique, repetition, and you made it graceful by returning to wine (which had not been partnered so closely with waltzes yet) and dreams.  Lovely.

I must admit I've had a powerful urge to add chocolate to the mix of wine and spices, waltzes and dreams.  Is it just me, or does anyone else see chunks of chocolate all lined up and ready to be chomped in our ProgPo badge???

But I resisted the chocolate, because the circle of our beautiful and mysterious poem seems to be turning back toward its beginning (and this is Line 20, after all.)  We who invited a wanderer in silver slippers to sit for a spell have offered comfort and nourishment, and now it's time for that wanderer to join the dance, for the music to quicken and for joy to overtake sorrow.

I feel also like the poem is ready for a little grounding in the concrete, and yet who would want to disturb the gently wafting spirituality in the air?  So I've tried to ease us towards a livelier pace without breaking the mood--which is why, I explained to my 13-year-old, the word "bamboozled" could not be included in Line 20, despite her energetic and cogent arguments.  I have suggested that she and Ruth's daughter, of "Suddenly, Ninjas!", should get together for their own partner poem project.

Now that I have completed my overthinking ritual, here's the poem.
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If you are reading this
you must be hungry
Kick off your silver slippers
Come sit with us a spell

A hanky, here, now dry your tears
And fill your glass with wine
Now, pour. The parchment has secrets
Smells of a Moroccan market spill out.

You have come to the right place, just breathe in.
Honey, mint, cinnamon, sorrow. Now, breathe out
last week's dreams. Take a wish from the jar.
Inside, deep inside, is the answer...

Unfold it, and let us riddle it together,

...Strains of a waltz. How do frozen fingers play?
How do fennel, ginger, saffron blend in the tagine?
Like broken strangers bound by time, they sisterdance...
their veils of sorrow encircle, embrace.

Feed your heart with waltzes and spices.
Feed your soul with wine and dreams.
Humble dust of coriander scents your feet, coaxing

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One of my well-read daughter's critiques was about my use of the word "humble."  How can coriander be humble, she asked, and if you're trying to be more concrete, isn't personifying a spice taking you in the wrong direction?  I realized that she understood the meaning of humble only in relation to a person's station or modesty.  I explained that humble can also describe a thing, meaning plain and simple, unpretentious, and as I explained, I remembered how I learned "humble" long ago, and it made me smile.

Charlotte: HUMBLE? Humble has two meanings. It means NOT PROUD and it means LOW TO THE GROUND. That's Wilbur all over. He's not proud and he is near the ground.

Then I got concerned, because my UU daughter seems to have missed her opportunity to learn something about humble from a certain humble stable in Bethlehem.

A final note:  I adore coriander, the dried and ground seeds of the plant we commonly call cilantro, and if our wanderer has any digestive discomfort after the delicious tagine, a little coriander tea should help.

On to you, Myra--I hope my humble addition gives you something to run with!  Poetry Friday is hosted today by Diane at Random Noodling.  See you there...