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
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.