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Soup Is One Form of Salt Water

I am making borscht      please do not laugh at me      I seem to have ruined my

soul      the quality of television programming grows stronger all the time      soon we

will live in the ocean      we will all return to the ocean      my hands are bright

pink      like I have been applauding you for hours      my love for you is louder than I

know      I saw a show last night      there were four thousand brides left in Iceland      I

was laughing      but it was not funny      the brides looked embarrassed      and cold      I

must not wash anywhere but a tide pool      I must use starfish      to scrub at my

hands      I am writing this to say      I am not leaving you forever      I am going to get

better      and then I’ll come home

Award-winning poet of 'The Trees The Trees'. Author of 'The Crying Book'. Published in The New Yorker, Poetry, & more. Former fellow at Emory.