there’s always food when the telephone rings
my hands knuckle-deep in flour and water
kneading       yeast burps and sighs when I
hear the news
a voice
flat and distant
hours later the dough’s a circus tent billowing
warm and loose and forgotten       with your good arm
in a sling you punch it left-handed
together we form the loaves
our laughter
like fresh-baked bread




4 thoughts on “accident

    1. thank you!

      this is an old one (I’m reworking/ moving some old poems here, slowly) from a day when my daughter decided to go roller-blading, after she hadn’t skated in several years. the phone call came less than an hour later: “mom, I think I broke my arm…”

      she had. should’ve listened to her mother. šŸ˜‰


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