A pleasure to hold
A man who bakes
Bread, a chemist who
Straightens and tidies
As he creates,
His kitchen a counter
For bowls as if
Beakers, but watch,
The hand inching its way
In-between to steal a bite
Is still a small boy’s hand.
The chemist smiles,
Like my own, my child’s
Skin longs for the raw
Dough and the tug
At my heartstrings is
Surely as strong as the ties to
My own grandmother, I remember
She smelled always of flour
And I reveled in her
Touch, her embrace,
Generation after generation
The yeast is alive
And our son’s eyes fill with
Wonder as a loaf rises,
Be thankful, we continue
To learn what all teachers of
The very young know—-
The moment is the miracle.