Salt
My dog has died. I wander into the little kitchen
light dim and flickering like a bird’s wings or what
could have been her heartbeat. I reach out and
hold on to a bottle of salt waiting for the wave
to pass. I am at the hospital and my grandfather
is gasping in his final hours. Then I am wading
through the flooded city once more not knowing
if I’ll survive the night. I am a child again hiding
under the table when an argument collapses like
broken glass. I thought, this isn’t right—the five
spices should be beside the Szechuan peppercorns
and the green curry beside the lime leaves. I move
the ponzu next to the togarashi. The plum sauce
near—oh, oh, what am I to do now. Saffron, sage
and thyme. Tomorrow they will bury her soft body
underneath a row of hibiscus happily blooming in
the summer. I ache everywhere. May I please lay
beside her, I asked an empty room. A lifetime ago
Virginia wrote I can’t fight any longer and then walked
into the river, her pockets filled with white rocks.
Meanwhile, rosemary. Meanwhile, black truffle.
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Image by Meruyert Gonullu from Pexels
T. De Los Reyes is a Filipino poet and the author of And Yet Held (Bull City Press). Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Poetry Northwest, Diode, Epiphany, Waxwing, and elsewhere. A 2025 VONA Summer Fellow, she has been nominated for Best of the Net. She is the founder of Read A Little Poetry. Read more of her work at tdelosreyes.com.
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