Mom's Bread
Ruddy, handsome
sunlit eyes
cropping gold
into bundles
carted up mountain
echoing songs
of farmers thrashing.
Seeds of strength
stoned into flour
rounded into loaves
balanced on boards
carried up
the stony hill climb
on women’s heads
crowned with twisted
circled rags.
Walls and benches
blackened by heat
dusted with ashes
shaken off the oven bed
by a spec of a woman
in black
forking hay into flames
eye timing loaves
to perfection.
Aroma of singular
ecstatic delicacy
and chit-chat of women
waiting for their tanned loaves
as mothers for their toddler
at the end of a sunny
school day.
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