Knead
Love hate they say as if we are baking Sylvia bread,
head in an oven to watch the yeast rise.
Witness the moment the skin begins to brown,
when the odor wafts upon the window draft
like a ghost walking about room to room.
We look but can not see,
smell but do not inhale because we know inside
hate festers like pan drippings on the heating element;
you can not touch without getting burned.
After all, one who hates you perfectly,
moils without end to slice the lines that define you,
might be the one who can accept
everything you are made of,
the hard crust, the delicate insides,
and the crumbs that linger longer.
first published in Clockwise Cat Jan 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
smell but do not inhale because we know inside
hate festers like pan drippings on the heating element;
you can not touch without getting burned.
Jay I was right with you until the above verse.
You go with bread baking and then here you switch to pan drippings...meat cooking drips juice not bread that I know of.
then in the later verses revert back to the bread metaphor.
I suggest that in stead of pan drippings you use something else related to bread, maybe yeast rising or some such.
*shrug* You got it published as is but I'm just saying you made me break MY rhythm in reading it at that point.
Thanks buddy, you comment is appreciated and I have to agree. Hope you have a great holiday!
Smiles!
es de nada
Enjoy the holiday with you and the kiddos.
Post a Comment