Dipping his hand into the stream of fate

Ripping seeds from their pods

Putting them on a different path

Grind them fine

Make bread

(Not plants for you no more dear seeds)

Sown in stomachs

Fueling animal belly-fires

Quenching hunger

For now. For now.

Back to the hoe

Back to the grindstone

Back to the oven

Back to the table

(Say that prayer)

That bread

Stiff crust, soft inside

Doughy, squishy

Yet Warm enough from the oven

To melt the butter

(Back to the hoe)

Some will savor that

And say they are satisfied

The seeds of that will feed the body

The love of that bread

Is what feeds the soul

20191016 for my lady, and the prompt at

5 thoughts on “Breaded

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