Bread by FractalFactor
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Description
I have become lost in the sanctity
of fresh-baked bread
its scent evict my tenuous presence
the house is filled
with all the days of the past
and memories of all the strong fingers
that have worked the dough
my hair smells of yeast
and I have been delivered to my enemies
my hands are stained
with the stigmata of floury dough
caked
flaky
and a cheerful smudge
on the tip of my nose
marks me forever the subject of history
Comments (5)
barbdennist
Beautiful looking loaves of bread and wonderful thoughts about the joys of making and baking bread from scratch. I have to admit to using a bread machine some of the time but nothing beats making and kneading your own bread - an art almost forgotten in this modern age.
auntietk
Such a wonderful sense of history! Very nicely written.
Chipka
This is a wonderful piece of evocative writing and a truly mythic subject! Bread is so many things, a true gift from the Goddess, Ceres--if that particular religion is your sort of thing. I love the sense of history embedded in your words, the real and visceral sense that anything bread-related is in many ways sacred, and does--indeed--mark all human beings. Marvelous writing, and the image goes perfectly with the poem.
experimental
I love how you marked this as mythology. Thats IT! I'm gonna go make some bread now! ;)
moochagoo
I agree with auntiek !