I throw your spilt salt over my shoulder
Pinch by pinch,
And lick the last
Grains from my fingers.
It covers my tongue
With sodium slurry
Redolent of tequila and lime,
Fish and chips on the quayside,
Seasoning the Sunday roast.
Now those days are gone
As you are gone,
And when I knock the salt cellar
On the table,
And white grains spill
Wildly over the letter you left me,
I throw your spilled salt over my shoulder
As if somehow that will negate your words
And bring you home.
A short poem that was inspired by my daughter spilling salt all over the table, and then trying to scoop it all up again.