Baking Bread

Bread, 

you rise

from flour, 

water

and fire.

Dense or light,

flattened or round,

you duplicate

the mother's

rounded womb,

and earth's

twice-yearly

swelling.

How simple

you are, bread,

and how profound!

You line up

on the baker's 

powdered trays

like silverware or plates

or pieces of paper

and suddenly

life washes 

over you,

there's the joining of seed

and fire,

and you're growing, growing

all at once

like

hips, mouths, breasts,

mounds of earth,

or people's lives.

The temperature rises, you're overwhelmed

by fullness, the roar

of fertility,

and suddenly 

your golden color is fixed.

And when your little wombs

were seeded,

a brown scar

laid its burn the length

of your two halves'

toasted

juncture.

Now, 

whole,

you are 

mankind's energy,

a miracle often admired,

the will to live itself.

-Pablo Neruda

Just a little one-minute montage project with music by Nick Joy. 

Happy Fall, Happy Sunday, Happy Bread-Breaking.