I read that some birds use their own saliva
like concrete in between the twigs and sticks,
ensuring it will hold and could survive a
storm with its own spit keeping it affixed.
I read that Jesus spit into the mud
and swirled it with the dirt to make a paste
He placed on someone’s eyes and that His blood
then poured from sharp thorns — none of it a waste.
My mother used her spit when I was hurt
to rub the wound and clean the rocks and dirt
from my skinned knees. She pressed her palm where beads
of ruby blood had pearled like little seeds.
Who knew that blood and spit, so gross and soft,
so bodily, could hold a life aloft?
Photo: Todd Petit via Flickr