https://youtu.be/bLIuidQNpUg

POEM:

For Beth on our 25th anniversary

Your fists plunge into a mound of elastic dough
a subtle smear of flour above your eyebrow,
and wisps of dusted hair
the back of your wrists could not wipe away,
pursed lips, flattened palms,
back bent driving your elbows down,
familiar work,
by now you understand
what needs to be incorporated
what needs resting in order to rise
And how fire can bring forth a miracle.

You nod and I take up the handle of
a long serrated blade -
in my right hand,
my left rests firmly on the scorched crust
cracked and capped with flecks of flour
wrapped in a blanket of redolent air,
I have learned over time
what cannot be divided
what cannot be opened by prying
and how what is precious cannot be contained.

Under shortening late morning rays
golden crumbs scatter on the wood block
as I draw the blade down
roughly across the crust
down and deeper,
two steaming tranches for
two hand thrown plates
two yellow squares butter
a round table wiped clean
in a cozy kitchen corner
...bread of your hands
a miracle made of everything
before this moment
we breathe and let the wisps of steam
wafting above our coffee mugs
write poetry in the air between us
when the last crumbs have been gathered
It is just us.

11/06/2023