Member-only story
Salt
A Poem
Salt
— 1 —
Trick or treating in our new neighborhood,
my sister and I rang the bell
of a house not expecting visitors
and all she had to give us
were two red delicious apples.
Plain offerings, if you compared them
to the bright colorings of the
candy rustling in our bags.
Like reaching for mere salt
when cooking a dish for guests
instead of cardamom
or fresh ginger or garlic:
a fancier seasoning,
a spice that rolls off your tongue,
a flavor that dances on taste buds.
— 2 —
I remember before moving
to our new house in the city
my mother had to drive us to school
up a hill in the neighborhood;
one that, covered in snow or ice,
would spin tires and leave cars immobile.
The only thing that could be relied on
to boost our bodies
in metal and rubber
up the icy hill
was plain sodium and chloride.
