Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Fleurs de sel

accept this offering

of dried fish and birds

salted with bitter tears

I harvested.

your passing

did not turn grand

cities into crystallized seas

though your family still

feels the curse of another

disappeared before his time

but like the Mary Celeste

you’ve refused to go down.

we pour thin white lines

at the windows and doors

hoping to keep you at bay

some say it keeps you trapped inside 

with us the living

conjuring more of the same.

no there is no blame for pouring

salt into our wounds we accepted

that sentence from the womb

as part of us being born yours

we came out briny

as if direct from the ooze

moody to the blues

like those storms at sea

that brew up quick

lashing at the shores

with towering tongues

of brackish water

© Odilia Galvan Rodriguez, 2008

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