Breaking Bread

The bereaved must sing to the passed,
must wail upon the deaf skies our frailty.

Given just moments upon this crust,
like toothsome bread to savor until swallowed,
we must praise the baker his craft.

There is not a noise we make
more truthful than the chewing,
the soft crumb yielding to the jaw.

Put an ear to the loaf to hear
the children's song of the womb
in faint wisps of steam and contraction.

The bereaved must sing to the passed,
the torn, the chewed and swallowed frailty.

◄ How Each We Taste The Morning

The Sage of Devil's Gulch ►

Comments

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Alaia vibes

Mon 12th Aug 2019 03:23

Awesome read, really enjoyed this! Just paints such a picture.

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keith jeffries

Sun 11th Aug 2019 12:06

Devon,

an extraordinary poem and somehow appropriate for a Sunday morning. Bread has a significance of its own in all our lives with a myriad of meanings associated with it. I do like the penultimate stanza.

Thank you for this
Keith

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