The banana bread cooled on the counter,
Not ready for the knife that would deliver it
From its pan. Still, I didn’t consider it
My baby, though I had made it.
I lay my cheek on the brown crust,
Rested there. This was new for me;
A finger touch acted as temperature check
Before. It was like placing my face
Against my mother’s. Sweet smelling,
Warm, compelling. I became the baby,
Comfited, encompassed, content.
I’d never thought to do more with food
Than cut and eat. This time that didn’t seem enough.
I thought the Hebrew prayer would help:
Thank you for this bread brought from the earth.
I left it on the counter. Later I’ll do what must be done:
Make slices, not too big and not too small.
Respectful, incorporating its body into mine.
Read more:
Karen Mandell has taught writing at the high school and college levels and literature at community senior centers. Her short story Goddess of Mercy is forthcoming from Notre Dame Review. She's written Clicking, interconnected short stories, and Rose Has a New Walker, a book of poetry.
Latest posts by Karen Mandell (see all)
- Staff of Life - 14th March 2021