Bread

Come in from the garden

through the back door

a few steps up

there is grandmother’s kitchen

big room with a huge farmhouse

table and there she

kneads dough

her loose white skin

moving with each punch

Some loaves are already in the oven

the yeasty smell fills the house

baked in the old gas oven

until grandmother knows

exactly when to take it out

slices and serves with strawberry jam

to waiting grandchildren

Advertisements
Bread

On Writing

 

“All the lost fears are here again.”   Rilke

 

the screen goes black and I can’t

write anymore

my self is my greatest critic

and my greatest fear

will I stop loving God

not today

 


Jilly’s prompt

On Writing