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Sal Grosso  

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

my eyes.

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.

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