Family

• Ella Ghazawi, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2015

The sizzling sound of the beef skewers waft through the air.
The aroma of the fat dripping on the black, flaming charcoal.
The rough feel of wood under my fingertips as I spin the delicious morsels over and over.
The creamy texture of the babba ganoush makes me salivate.
The aftermath of the garlic dip whose remnants remain long after the meal.
The heat radiating from the argilah comforts me.
The sticky sweetness of the baklava sticks to my fingers.
The refreshing taste of the Ceylon tea cleanses the palette signalling the end of the meal.