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#NaPoWriMo Day 2: Baked Goods (cont.) – Anxiety Bread

a friend calls it anxiety bread

something basic about bread

whether it’s a memory of mum

hands floury while you touch a block of yeast

alien grey and slimy

whether it’s from bakery, still too-warm and crisp

arguing with your brother over the first bit

something basic about bread

when I first left my country

bread was one thing missing

I enjoyed the newness of reality

but Americans don’t make the bread I’ve been eating

pilgrimaging to Italian bakery, needed

the taste and the crunch of a loaf that’s been kneaded

the novelty items were all very nice

but I wanted something that wasn’t pre-sliced

there’s something basic

(and that’s still without

the half-choking, half-childlike memory entwined

cold insides of church, invoke bread and wine

melting on my tongue, wafer of divine)

even that aside

something ancient and knowing about grain and life

about mixing the flour and letting it rise

and just maybe

if your pantry still boasts

enough that you can easily have a bit of toast

to cut into soldiers, serve with beans or jam

under a poached egg or a piece of ham

then just maybe

you can be okay

for one more day

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