Salt poetry / by Christine M Lorenz

I had fallen out of touch with Three Quarks Daily. (There was no good reason. Their quality hasn't diminished or anything, it's just that there's so much out there, although it really wouldn't hurt if  their site were a little more mobile friendly.) But it looks as if the big blue is looking out for me. Saturday's poem showed up in my Facebook feed, which is peculiar; I can't remember the last time they turned up that way. It is possible that the title of the poem is algorythmically resonating. Last week, Pete Brook published a very nice article in Vantage about my Salt project. You can be sure that I posted that one in Facebook, and some of my friends passed it on. With so much talk of salt in my recent posts, I'm surprised not to be seeing ads for Sur la Table or something in the sidebar. This is much better:

Salt
.

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