Yasmin Morais Torquato
My father was grilling meat
in the backyard
I stole a grain of sea salt
and ate it.
It made me want more.
The tingling sensation in my tongue
brings memories of
waves I’ve swallowed in my mother’s land,
And tears I’ve tasted coming from
It teases my mouth,
Salivating for that familiar taste of
memories I have felt,
So enhanced- Flavor enhancer. Flesh preserver—
but long gone.
It crashes as salty as the ocean
water is all I need.
A leap so cold, it wakes me from whatever dream
I dreamt, of a land far away to kill
that thirstiness for more, that salt
I stole from the meat my
father was grilling in the
backyard I no longer know
It was real.
Yasmin Morais Torquato is an architecture student in Boston taking a Poetry Workshop elective where she learned to unleash a voice that was always inside her. She enjoys writing poetry about her life experiences and struggles with immigration and anxiety. This is Yasmin's debut poetry publication.