Poem: November 28, 2019

Brine

I am grateful to whomever figured out
that steeping the turkey in a briny bath
creates a more delicious and satisfying
meal, with all of its juice and flesh, soft
as a kind look, created through a type
of breathing in and out, a movement,
together and apart in which some part
is left behind in the circular traveling.

And I think of all of us, all our moving
away and returning home over the years,
along highways and mental distances,
the way we flavor one another with what
we bring along and what we take away.
I am changed because of your learning,
your aches and celebrations, your losses.
We are seasoned, made tender in the
salt and wash of one another, in the seas
of our embraces, momentary as kisses.