Poem: Salt

Apollo, Resident Poet

On visiting childhood places:

Be sure to swing.

Even if your hands hurt and the branches above spell out an aching metaphor.

Climb into the loft.

Even if the typewriter has been replaced by cardboard boxes.

Film with a friend.

Even if the hummingbird moves too quick to capture.

Crunch the leaves with your shoes.

Even if it doesn’t sound the same.

Lay down in the guest house.

Even if it’s much brighter than you remember it being.

Eat 4 chunks of dark chocolate.

Even if it’s so bitter that you have to lick salt off of your fingertips.

Talk about strange things.

Even if you didn’t used to be so insightful.

Breathe deeply.

Even if it is not the same air.