Imagine the saltiest wound. Taste it.
Squeeze its greasy-sandy texture between
two fingers. Appreciate that love & life
do mix- a strange consistency.
This is therapeutic.
Notice the color; the way black and red
compliment eachother. The way pain
and joy exist, ground up inside
the same transparent skein.
The smell of blood, the acrid odor
of iron. Who can tell the difference
between death and strength?
Whose mother serves it knowing
you will learn to like it?