Bread
That year we learned the true language of fear.
I baked boule and you haunted medical sites.
You said to arrive I must first depart
or be willing to suffer self-awareness. Let’s not
mention our pact just yet. My basic boule requires a
Dutch oven, 20 ounces of flour, water, yeast and salt.
At twenty I learned the finer points
of sausage-making, how to butcher chicken, and
that your hair smelled like dawn’s last flower.
Back then we owned the night. Now I harvest
wild yeast and sharpen pencils, make to-do lists,
pour Chianti, run numbers. I agreed
to your proposal. It would be a kindness, you said.
The pancreas produces hormones
and aids digestion. I chopped off my left thumbtip
and a year later the abscission point
still felt numb. After rolling the dough
into a ball, let it proof for an hour in an oiled bowl.
We shared a taste for sharp cheese
but never agreed on pillows. You loved
down comforters and found vultures fascinating.
Years together honed our lives
but we never considered what that meant. Score
the dough, bake it for 30 minutes with the lid on,
remove the lid and bake for another 15.
Kneading resembles breathing: in,
out. Rise, fall. Bright lights made your eyes water,
so I kept them dimmed. You swallowed
and said “Tell me how to knead bread.”
With the heel of your right hand, push down
and forward, applying steady pressure.
The dough should move under your hand.
Within minutes it will transform.
* * *
“Bread” was first published in Extract(s) in April 2015.
O at the Edges 
i’d like to join the folks above who praised your poem so highly. i got hooked by the lines “Let’s not/ mention our pact just yet” because of the personal voice and the bit of humor.
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Thanks very much.
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Love your use of language.
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It does get beaten about a bit before an appearance in final form. And thank you!
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This is beautiful. I loved the startling pairing of images — down pillow and vultures, how to butcher chicken & hair that smells like dawn’s last flower. Love this.
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Thank you, Candy. Life is full of these incongruities.
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Brilliant poem. Skillful meandering and imagery. Congratulations and thank you!
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Thank you!
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Lovely poem.
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Thanks very much.
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Stunningly beautiful. Just stunning.
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Thank you. Much appreciated.
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Thank you Robert for interweaving how to make bread into poetry. Both are transformative and creative expression, and poetry, like bread, is essential.
Keep writing,
David
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It’s difficult to beat the combination of poetry and bread! Thank you for your kind words
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Pancreas, medical sites…I read, an ominous note throughout this fine poem.
Thank you for liking my poem!
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There is indeed, in my mind, an ominous, or at least slightly dark thread through the poem. And thank you!
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