Inherently Salty

He spilled the salt

on my little white table cloth

with old-fashioned red trucks

he spilled the salt 

on my little white wedding dress

with old-fashioned hopes and ideals 

he spilled the salt 

on my good faith and my generosity 

he spilled that bowl of salt

that I used for watercolour effects

and he knocked the clear dome from my woodland things 

and all that magic spilled out

like spores 

and all that salt worked 

to protected me

and the escaping magic grew to the size of a wave

it washed the space clean 

and sent him out the door

and all that salt 

spilled on my dining room table

spoke to me in silence of its tiny cascades

evil warded off, for good, let's say.

This time.

Sons of crone women 

who never took the time to raise men.

Causing me problems with wagging tongues 

and misogyny.

Don't expect me to be your scapegoat, 

all you un-mothered men (or were you over-mothered?) 

mothered wrong by crone women

who throw all their mistakes at me 

as if it is supposed to be the best I could ever achieve, 

to be the one to cover up the fact

that

they didn't raise their sons

properly.

Therefore,

their sons 

did not 

raise

at all.

They must have forgot 

to put salt

in the dough.

***

Good thing 

my bloodline 

is 

inherently 

sal  

ty. 

****

Salt was spilled. 

An omen fast, 

held together with 

a

magical cast. 

My purpose in this world is not to be a scapegoat for you

you may not use me to hide all that you did not do

while your sons go around

spilling salt

spilling salt

spilling 

way way 

too much 

salt.

Wasting precious things.

Repeatedly.

As if it is some sort of 

lifestyle.

****

Good thing my bloodline

is inherently 

salty.

It's a damned good thing

my bloodline 

is

inherently 

salty.