Biopoiseis
       

The salt box I bought
in Lithuania is not

the usual cellar haunted
by rice and a twist cap scraping
glass when refilled. Open the hinged lid
and pinch to taste

tides and seaweed. Savor
storm spume, rip currents,
and breezes that blow forever

shoreward. Briny, flaked grit,
dead as ash, alive on food—
Kin to the tang of my blood,
this box of sea dust cells earth
memory and spells me home.

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Copyright © 2018 Irena Praitis All rights reserved
from Rods and Koans
Red Mountain Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission