A PINCH OF LIFE

The grocery store always tucks away the salt in a corner

which you frequent no more than a few times a year

while in your own kitchen

the salt jar is always placed in a prominent position

The blue and white porcelain jar has seen better years

covered by a lid that’s not the original

You stand by the cooktop, throwing into the pan of boiling oil

some cold ingredients

You love the sizzling sounds

that awakes memory of years past

a certain afternoon, near dusk

you watched from the cooking area your mother

wielding a spatula in the smoke

and stirring this way and that the dull bottom of a pot

Since then you’ve believed

palatable life originates from

traces of clear memories