Dear Wigleaf,

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.


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Read NF's story, "Wells."

w i g · l e a F               05-07-10                                [home]