Turmeric is a strange spice.
Its taste is almost
not a taste, but a temperature.
Like tapping your tongue
to apple skin
warm from the sun, not biting.
Its color is almost
not a color, but a sound. Like the school bus door swinging
open, an exhale.
Like pomegranate, it lingers,
the bright dye clinging to your lips, your fingers.
Terra merita, good earth, how it crumbles in your mouth.
Elizabeth Burnam was born and raised in a yellow trailer in Syracuse, New York, keeping secrets and getting her feet dirty. In May of 2018, she graduated from Champlain College with a degree in Professional Writing. Her work has been published in the Raven Chronicles Journal, The Coffin Bell Journal, Libero Magazine, Introvert, Dear and more.
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