Salt

If grief had a flavour,

it would be the sea —

and you, the only shore I ever found.

If loss had a sound,

it would be the tide

that keeps arriving and keeps going round.

Salt in the wound and salt in the water.

Salt on the table and salt in the air.

Salt is what's left when the sweetness has gone, love.

Salt is the only thing left that's still there.

You kept your letters in a shoebox.

I kept mine in my chest.

One of us was organised about it.

One of us has not yet had a rest.

I don't say your name out loud now.

I say it very quietly.

The way you say a word so many times

it loses what it used to mean to me.

Salt in the wound and salt in the water.

Salt on the table and salt in the air.

Salt is what's left when the sweetness has gone, love.

Salt is the only thing left that's still there.