Making Arabic Coffee

Making Arabic Coffee

The dark brown liquid, almost black,
the color of hickory, bubbling up. I
lift up this small pot as water rises.
Foam. Heat. Steam. I lift it away
from the fire, until it settles
down again. Let it boil once
more. Lift up – the same up
and down bobbing above the fire,
until the foam no longer rises.
The water has taken in
the flavor, color, taste
of our ground coffee beans,
and I remember quickly, the words
in Arabic; my mother warned,
Latt Khaleeya’t Foorr. Foorr.
To overflow. To rise up.
To foam. Still, I cannot find
the English translation to suffice.
I had not remembered this
one Arabic word, foorr, until
memory rose up like the water
I color into coffee; the moment
brought me back to that place,
over the stove with my mother;
her behind me warning,
Latt khaleeya’t foorr.
Ay, haykee. Yes, like this.
And so she taught me not to let
things overflow; and so she taught me
the way things rise.

Marian Haddad

Posted over on The Poet Magazine