Waiting to Enter Heaven

I remember . . .
her flesh so delicate
as the rice she fed us.

I stood by her in the kitchen,
where she often teased my heart
with bits of food sleeping
in her trembling hands,

hands like rose petals, on my tongue,
as she so gently passed her pulse
into my eager stomach.

From another roomh howls arose
at the fragrance she bloomed,
and we waited . . .

as if waiting to enter Heaven.

Siamak Samiean