The taste of salt from those soggy potato wafers,

Mixing deliciously with the saccharine icing

That is the birthday paper plate ritual.

That little silver ball discovered

By the tongue, suddenly.

A tentative bite

And it crumbles

Into something surprisingly sweet.

The taste of salt from that trembling

Self-concious corner of the mouth.

As tears stream down the face,

One stream racing the other.

The unforgettable taste of blood

First remembered,

From the cut lip

Mixed with the texture of dirt

As you pick yourself up

From the paved road.

Oh, that I were a child again

Stepping anew into consciousness

Never sure of what I will find in the mirror

In the next room

And under my bed.