Let me help you break the bread
with my family this holiday.
You step over the threshold, ignore the salt,
admire the braided beauty on the plate.
Chew it and savour,
linger on the aftertaste of generations’ toil.
Your family has a Domesday entry.
Mine is self-sufficient.
Grains are the pride of every house: maize and wheat,
we pat our mămăligă,
we mould our bread with tears and laughter,
age plum brandy in lop-sided barrels,
magic forth the salt from deep mines.
For what more do you need
for your gut to be satiated
for merriment to bubble up
and your face to flush with our endless questions?
Over at dVerse Poets we are talking bread in all its forms, getting ready for the holidays.