It was water, rock, fortune
Or the bond issued by the government.
It was also the Satyagraha
To be independent for the nation.
Imagine, the peaceful march of the salted people
Led by Gandhi in a white cotten dhoti.

Every morning, my grandma washed her eyes
With the salty water and brushed her teeth
With a scoop of it. That's why she could read
Books without glasses when she was eighty-three.
She swallowed a spoonful to cure a sour stomach,
And rubbed it into my skin for a mosquito bite
Or an abration. In order to stop the unwanted
From coming back like a bad person or a malady,
She sprayed a bowl of it after they left.

In the morning session, my principal, Kyo-jang,
Always deplored public corruption,
And instructed us to be the salt in society.

I keep in mind that salt is the real stuff of this world:
It makes the food tasty like humor and keeps everything
From spoiling including the ocean.

But salt rusts our body like metal. It can cause
Tumorous disease. It still has the secret
I can't uncover:
Why is the salt content of our body
The same as that of the sea? Why does the carton of salt
Carry the line, When it rains, it pours?