sunday bread
(for the two supervisors)
a cup of this, a teaspoon of that,and whatever the heart has been carrying,fold it in. it bakes out sweet. knead, and think of nothing.knead, and think of everything.the dough does not mind which. two cats hold their inspection from the doorway,unimpressed by flour, as their fathers were,and their fathers before them. roll here, spread that, taste, and wait.the waiting is the medicine.ovens and prayers work the same way.you do your part, you close the door,and let the warmth finish what you started. by noon the house smells like a good decision,and a knot i never namedhas quietly untied itself. — tachi
next in the short breaths small mercies, a count 