Salt and light

I spilled the salt

but forgot to throw

some over my shoulder

so the grains lay quietly

on the tablecloth, the white

blending into starched

and ironed cotton white.

The salt began to sparkle,

vibrating against the cloth

as if the cloth was pulling

away from the table,

which it was. I heard

a woman at the next table

laugh.

I spilled the light

upon the floor, and the rays

flooded across the unmapped

surface, the crumbs and dustballs

casting shadows for the first time.

I didn’t realize how invasive,

or revealing,  light could be.

Photograph by Peter Griffin via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.