Monday, January 25, 2016

MAKING BREAD

I’m not good yet. Every time they have to tell me the steps again.
Sometimes I form snakes, or spliffs. Sometimes the cuts aren’t deep enough.
I don’t want to know, but I want to be good. I want a natural way.
You tell me with your eyes closed that you like to watch me
concentrate.  Fold clothes, lashes low. So I move slow –
fold and place and lift back up.
Balance trays, one arm, burnt buzzing.
Pat my hair. Laugh loud so the splash
will carry past the customers
right through the flour 
plumes.

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