The Taste Of Memory

That sharp tang of lye in their mouth,
A thread back to a different place where
These bread rolls were a part of everyday
Life, and no matter how many they ate,
Or how much hot chocolate they drank,
Their body remained the same straight
Up straight down shape of neutrality,
Their face the angular sculpture of
Objective androgynous beauty that’s
Universal, treasured by many, and valued
By none. And now, in this other place,
This other time, it persists with the taste
Of memory, and the bruises of torture
By those who don’t understand the Other.

R 17/04/2025 15:48 Norwich