Salt of the Earth

Brown hands scoop and crack ashy rock

hundreds of miles from the Himalayas.

They toil, stiff and crusted like old statues

in caverns far from the sea.

*

While they excavate,

foreign companies evaluate

the good and bad

mounds of salt.

*

Old dump trucks fill and carry away spoils.

We fill our spice cabinets and our spas,

but do we ever stop to think?

We just want the pink

*

salt that comes neither from the sea

nor the mountains. They say

it’s good for us, though I wonder

if those choking on its dust would agree.

*

Hungry mouths lead to empty bellies

and so they go underground,

doing that which must be done

to appease the gods of consumption.

*

Human beings fill crystal caves,

slaving away, cutting, sawing, drilling.

We buy, dine, sprinkle, look, touch;

groping for ayurvedic benefits.

*

We feast on the harvest of others,

seasoning our lives with their sweat and blood,

thinking that our wants fill their wallets and

distant lands have no purpose without us.

*

All we need is the rosy dust,

the raw flavor, not the fresh wounds carved

from rusty tools and gunpowder. We think coins will

fill the holes, but they don’t. They never do.