Sour Simmer

The stew’s salt bite, a memory stirred,

then sour slices cut through the word.

A flavor strange beneath the known,

as if the past had grown alone.

Steam curls from chipped ceramic bowls,

tang and salt in tangled roles.

The taste unsettles, pulls apart

old comfort breaking at the heart.

Mother’s cooking, love disguised,

sharp edges where softness lies.