Featured Post: The Price of Salt – M.A. Morris

I went to all my baskets of words
To find them emptied out.
In fact, it seems
Anger and sadness
Sandblasted holes
Clean through the dang baskets.

Then I went to all my junk drawers of words,
Pulled each open and found each empty.
Frustrated, I tugged them all the way out
To make sure no junk, trying to hide away,
had shimmied behind the drawers.
But my efforts were to no avail.
All my words were gone, stolen.
Even my most treasured one,
Used ever so rarely for food or wine,
Used just once, only once,
For a love.

Is this the price?
The price I pay for salt?
But this isn’t essential
To human existence.

No, I should report a robbery.
Call the cops and say,
“Someone stole all my words
And my most treasured one.”
Then I could file an insurance claim.
Perhaps collect something incalculable
And patch those dang baskets.
But how would they calculate
The value of such a word?
Used so rarely for things
And only once, just once
For something, someone rare?
How to calculate exquisite?

Image courtesy of Pinterest

I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

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