Undeceived, the body knows the gloom of her.

Right hand the usher, left hand the groom of her.

The fragrance of seasonings enfolds the house

but flesh stays attuned to the perfume of her.

Chair, sink and tablecloth compose a kitchen.

Knuckles, grip and thumb make a room of her.

Switchblade and jack, bread, bowie and pocket–

Christian names will ease into the loom of her.

Pale is the butter, soft ivory the brie;

but yielding knows how bright is the bloom of her.

Thanks to Agha Shahid Ali, the ghazal has entered American poetry's blood stream and this poem showcases the strength of the form. The poem's description of a knife engages us by providing the simple kitchen tool with a presence that is potent and palpable that can be read straightforwardly or as a metaphor. Both the title and ghazal's traditional focus on lost love incline me to the metaphoric reading, but either way, the poet's ease in handling the ghazal form (especially since it is done with a simple lexicon--no fancy "poetic" words here) is a delight. The last line satisfies our desire for the pleasure of both surprise and recognition. --Deborah Bogen