It is simple, the making of the bread.
Rye flour. Water. Starter. Salt.
It is simple, the what to do.
Feed the starter. Make the dough.
Wait. Wait. It will rise. It will bubble.
You will do other things like sleep,
like read books to your children,
write poems, weed. After eighteen hours,
turn it onto a board and press
the soft dough flat. Fold it in thirds
and then in half. Cover. And wait.
Shape it into a round with a hole
in the center. Cover. Go clean the fish tank.
Go swim. Go water the mint.
Preheat the oven to 450
degrees, preheat the clay cooker,
and wait. Transfer the dough
to the hot, hot oven and rearrange
the spice rack. The scent, it will reach you
as you polish the mirror and
watch the crows across the tracks
and race to the yard to catch the rainbow.
And then, when it’s bronzed and
the crust is hard, you remove it
to a cooling rack and wait. Until
the loaf cools enough to slice
and butter is spread across the dark face
and your body becomes the bread
through a series of linked miracles
commonly known as waiting.