The bread becomes the baker

(for Alice and Belinda....finally)




The bread becomes the baker


The baker does not exist
until bread-making begins.

Fingers are ropes.  Hands, 
lumps of mute flesh until

they touch the flour, until 
they form the loaves, until 

they roll the dough around 
and around, turning the planet.

The sun does not rise until 
the oven’s fire rubs the last

of the rest from the eyes
of the yeast and wakes it fully 

from its bed within the warmth, 
until the nascent crumb 

stretches, yawns and grows
upon the crest of the day

when the baker becomes the bread
and again ceases to exist.







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20 thoughts on “The bread becomes the baker

  1. This poem really rocks! Good work. This is very much like my process of bread making which is very much like my process of existence. I’m glad to see you writing poetry (in your spare time).

    All the best.
    ((HUGS)) all round for you and your family.

    Alice
    .

  2. stretches, yawns and grows
    upon the crest of the day…my favorite lines. Well done, as usual. Enjoyed this thoughtful piece very much as the sun was rising and I thought about my day ahead.

  3. oh, how delicious!

    ‘the oven’s fire rubs the last / / of the rest from the eyes / of the yeast’ = wow! and the whole also

    and a great rhythm, the feeling of the kneading in it. and I loved how the night came full circle with the baker. I had to read it out loud to my husband, who readily agreed when I said, ‘Is that not beautiful?’

  4. And then… the ordinary became the extraordinary! For me (and may be for of us here), is this baker any different from the Maker?…. loved the idea.. thanks for sharing your thoughts! 🙂

    • Thanks so much. You give me too much credit, I think, but I thank you. My apologies for my tardy response. Life took me away from here for far too long. I am doing what I can to change that now.

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