salt and grain

Reta

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.

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Comments +

Comments1

  • sorenbarrett

    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

    • Reta

      Thank you very much, I think you understand my point very well.

      • sorenbarrett

        You are welcome



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