Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Working the Dough

Yeast blooms in a warm bath
like living fireworks exploding
under a flourescent sky
Powdery flour is worked until
arms burn
fingers ache
then worked again
and again
into an elastic glutenous glob
it sleeps
under a blanket of quiet heat
becoming its own pillow
When it wakes,
it births five little pillows
that grow in the oven
like premies in an incubator
shiny and golden,
they emerge.

Wednesday's project: Challah for Rosh Hashanah

submitted for mindlovemisery, Prompt 19, Food


Anonymous said...

This is so beautiful and it reminds me how much being gluten intolerance sucks lol I miss baked goods this is heavenly and sadistic lol

Brian Miller said...

oo la....i would not mind a piece of that....i love fresh bread!!!

Vanessa Victoria Kilmer said...

Homemade bread is such a wonderful smell just like the clean smell of babies.

Fireblossom said...

How cool! In the novel I'm reading, they make challah. Synchronicity!

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Mary Hill said...

Hi, great imagery. I love this poem. :) Love your blog title too.