salt and grain Poem, by Reta, at My poetic side

Longing, longing—

solitude seeps through the cracks.

Pit-patter, it pools in my lap.

Let me cleanse your wounds with salt and grain;

the villagers watch, their eyes full of disdain.

I whisper, look, look away.

They do not understand my salt and grain.

They’ll knock on my door,

calling me witch, calling me cursed.

You’ll stand firm,

steady as rain,

not a flicker of doubt in your name.

But when you see—

the salt, the grain,

it was never yours.

It was always meant for me.

Comments +

sorenbarrett July 25th, 2025 20:48
Salt and grain in an open wound is pain. A fun read with some meaning to it in that people always assume that everything is for them, good or bad. A most interesting write

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