Saturday Poem


Salt in a wound worth its weight in salt.
Kiss that picques like fleur de sel de bretagne.
Love preserved like lemon in salt.
Preserved lemon, reserved love.

Salt of you mixes with salt of me.
Fish baked in salt crust
Take a hammer to break it
Like they do in Livorno.
Non mi ricordo pui di niente
except the salt sea of Sardinia
where I swam everyday for summers in a row
and tasted salt of your forearm
on the beach in beckoning breeze.

by Carolyn Wells
from Alimentum, The Literature of Food