Easy on the Salt


The meal is served,

emitting aroma,

 And looking amazing.

 A collection of color 
and texture.
Taste with the eyes.


Unfold napkin.

Fork to food,
food to mouth.

Not great.

Make adjustment.
Another bite.

Savor true flavor,
beyond expectation.
Food come to life.
The adjustment?


What is it about salt?

A woman beside me
at the table

tasteless, bland,  false.
 We dine apart.
Someone looks at her,
asks her to tell her story.
Encourages her.
Affirms her.

Her spirit blossoms,
she communes with us.
We taste her soul.

 A verse remembered,
“You are the salt of the earth,” He said.

I can be like that, I think.
And I mimic the encourager,
 flatter the guest, 
  in hopes of becoming spice.
 Tell her how great she is,
tell her how special she is.
And she withdraws
in proportion to the degree of my charade.

I  taste salt,
too much salt
Meal ruined.

“I am the bread of life,” He said.
“You are the salt, ” He said.
“Not the main meal,” He said.

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