Dirt Farmer (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
To break her crust with bare fingers
the warming earth
this loaf of bread
one must tear through, thumbs pressed in
encounter root, rock, worm
the soft centre of things
one dark, one light
hidden then exposed by the work of hands.
One must prepare
for dark circles under nails
the definition of finger creases
a crumb confetti on the lap,
and with hands raised to open face
the smell of history; this land
broken for you ~
daily bread.
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Image via Wikipedia
My daily bread
I donned my apron, floured the pan,
wiped flour from my nose,
and in the pan I placed the dough,
then left it while it rose.
Soon yeast and warmth and time took hold
and swelled the dough times two,
it’s perfect plumpness telling me
that baking time was due.
The oven beeped it’s readiness
the temp. was right on track,
and so I placed the lovely dough
upon the middle rack.
The dough rose higher and higher still,
it’s aroma filled the air.
I dreamed of spreading fresh preserves
on thick warm bread, with care.
I dreamed, my hunger deepened
I planned great feasts in my head.
And all the while my hungry heart
cried out for more than bread.
Then suddenly I smelled a smell
and realised with a shock,
that in my rush to bake my bread
I forgot the timer clock!
The oven door I opened
and there to my dismay
instead of bounty in my pan
was darkness and decay.
I looked again and shook my head
perplexed and in distress
for now I knew beyond a doubt
that I couldn’t eat this mess.
“Thou shalt not live by bread alone”
came unbidden to my mind.
And I thanked the Lord for burnt offerings
of bread and other kinds.
And then I sat and ate The Word,
and chewed on it awhile.
Digested and internalised
this bread did satisfy.
BUDDY BREATHING 