It goes into the skillet without a pause
mingling scents with the garlic and thyme,
an orchestra of aromas hidden in steam.
It spills on the floor so fine, unnoticed,
we step all over it, unaware of our tracks
coated with the fragrant memory of meals.
We carry a pinch behind each eyeball,
a secret spice adding heat to our sight,
making us blink back unexpected tears.
It breaks out on our foreheads, glistening,
adding a sparkle to the mundane evening,
a sheen that catches the kitchen light.
We store it inside our bodies, concealed,
in secret wineskins behind our ribs’ curve,
a taste we tap into in moments of need.
At supper, we pass it around the table,
savoring stories of holidays and the sea,
enriching each bite with whispered memories.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: February 9th, 2025 13:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 21
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments2
Ye are the salt of the earth. Necessary for life and the functioning of the nervous system it gives savor. Once precious. They say that Roman soldiers were paid in salt. Nicely done.
An inventive poem! Salt (both literal and metaphorical) is a required condiment for a life of any note!
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