Anger
Visits as often as a holiday
So when the time comes
I have to remember
What to do
With the taste I seldom
Sprinkle upon my tongue.

When I was a child
I tasted rage for the first time
I rolled it along my tongue
And found the longer I held it
The more incoherent words
Spewed from my mouth

It was bitter.

So I learned
To pour it into a jar
And tighten it
Then place it at the back
Of my spice cabinet
Every so often, I will shove a little more inside
Opening my heart
Leaning over
And letting it fall from me
Until it spills from the sides,
Onto my hands, and all over the floor.