First loaf


Sunday, July 13, 2014


She bakes bread

Each fall

After the first frost,

Clutching the long thin

Handle of the wooden spoon

So hard her knuckles

Go red

Veins thick along each

Finger as she stirs,

Working up the batter

Into a fitful froth

Until it is too thick

To beat,

Taking it out with

Both hands,

She molds it into

A long thick loaf,

Her hands are strong hands,

Gripping it tight as she kneads

Each finger pressing deep

Into the soft dough

Until she makes it hard,

Too tough to knead,

She stuffs it into her oven,

Where the deep heat

Makes it rise,

Makes it perfect.


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