i am salt, rubbed into the bottom

of a mug, with a bent finger.

the boiling water poured, the watching

grains disappear.

smelling of the sea in the back of my throat

as the gargle like herbs from the garden -

rosemary sage clary and cilantro.

my brown eyes greening up again

like a parched lawn of clover

resurrecting after the october rains.

i revive.

the sting of the sea. the swell of the sea.

in my glands.

to be held afloat

by contact solution,

is something they suggest at the drug store.

where they used to have soda fountains

and women with hot roller curls

sipping black cows and cherry fizz.

the egg salsa sandwiches

on pink and white plates

-

i am salt.

ⴲ.