Bread

                         g
 n
            i
          s
        i
The yeast from the dough r

Sugar storm

F      u
L            r
        R y

My mouth opens slightly to taste the sweet air Ne
Inhaling through my nose causes an abrupt S  E Ze

So powerful it could disrupt the wheat, the sourdough, the pumpernickel
From expanding and browning and crisping

The flat ridged knife we use for special occasions
To break bread
Reminds me of the white hat he wears
Creased sharply like a new accordion  

Sometimes I look down at the smmmmmmmeared ink
I tried to rub out
But it leaves a slimy trail
Can’t shake salt on it

Words are my bread
Crumbs left behind not from haphazard muffin removal
But from those moments in time I stop
And acknowledge
This would make a good poem