The winters here crave salt. The snow falls and I wake up murmuring
sodium chloride. I sprinkle salt on sliced pears. I eat rock salt like
candy. I steal saltshakers from restaurants, line them up in my closet,
paired like little silver-tipped shoes. When it gets crowded, I shake
them onto the icy sidewalks. This made me jealous of the cement so I
tossed out my furniture and continued hoarding. Now I sleep on a mound
of salt, pillows of salt, and dream about dried oceans. I never touch
anything I don't want pickled. And though I tend to worry, hyponatremia
hasn't crossed my mind in the least.
- - -
Read NF's story, "Wells."
w i g · l e a F