for my mother
Yesterday I baked the only bread you taught me how to bake.
One hand mixing the oats, bran and flour
the other adding in the cold buttermilk
I need to bring you back somehow.
I have broken the promise that I made to you
and have forgotten what you look like,
what you sound like,
the way you smell.
I bake this bread.
I break this bread.
I butter this bread
I commune with no one.
I doubled the recipe
I toast the bread and still I cannot find you.
I will keep baking this bread
loaf after loaf.
You remembered how to make the bread. Forgive yourself and enjoy how it tastes.
Forgiving myself is too hard.