The Gift of Saffron
03/17/2023A poem about saffron, a renowned seasoning and medicinal herb cultivated near Mashhad, Iran, and elsewhere. Women with dexterous fingers and patient dispositions hand-harvest the crimson stamen ‘threads,’ the essence of which produces a calming effect on a person, enriches flavor, and soothes the skin. Worth thousands of dollars per kilo, it is the world’s costliest spice.
On Persian plains the purple carpet blooms No thanks to desert winds harassing ‘round But to the Maker who from hidden rooms Finds scarlet store to sprinkle on the ground We restless souls in clay and water live Yet can’t but covet dust grasped by the hand In imitation of our mother Eve Whose slender limb partook the fruit He banned How fitting, then, that by her daughters’ grace The saffron’s secrets slowly are disclosed As strand by strand extracted they erase The cares our anxious musings interposed And whisper of the time when cool of day Brought fellowship beneath the evening star Where every tree was ours except a stay On one dark bough that led from snake to scars And so until that eon when the curse No longer stokes the fever of our fears We bless your touch, veiled oriental nurse, Upon our tea leaves, banquets, tongues, and tears © Kurt Mähler
