Salt in my pockets
deep in the crevices
each new coat christened
Grandma takes a handful
Tosses it in each fearful hole
Tosses some over her shoulder
Tosses a prayer to the salt god.

In the dead of winter
deep in a snow bank
salty mittens, salty treasure
line the crevices of my pocket
Keeps the cold from killing
Keeps the white from blinding
Keeps the tongue lively

Sea salt nuggets
deep into my daughter’s pocket
a new coat christened
white treasure in crevices to discover
Trace a salty path
Trace the superstitions
Traces of the old lady and her god.