In the Middle Ages, called white gold, 
vital— before refrigeration, sold
when it had to travel far on horseback,
camels, by boat. A form of currency,
its value in the language. Are you worthy
of your salt? Some believe it absorbs
all negative energy, can attack
demons, ghosts, black magic. Use it to clean
your aura. If you believe in such orbs,
I have a saltcellar to sell, and a mean
silver spoon. For looking back, Lot’s nameless
wife was turned into a pillar. Blameless?
A blessing? How did he take it? Insane
perhaps, he trudged on, took it with a grain. 

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has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, seminar leader, and has been a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. She is the author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam), and her poetry has appeared in Potomac Review, Rattle, The MacGuffin, Mezzo Cammin, and The Nation. She ran away from the hurricanes of South Florida to be surprised by the earthquakes and tornadoes of rural central Virginia, where she writes poetry and does fabric and paper art.

PoetryJoan Mazzajoan mazza, poetry, salt