You are  a glass statue trapped in a cage of tigers wanting their food

You are  the memory of my Granny poison’s   cold thin hand clutched close

You are the poem’s  threads , tied together like a lace

You are December  with a froze nose, frozen toes and frozen hands

You are the taste of a tear        smudging a sad faced person walking on a path

You are the taste of words like lemons, the sun yellow of a canary but sharp as salt