Oh, this alchemy of wheat,
salt, water, yeast and heat.
Something so holy about the art
of transforming grain into loaves,
how the scent of the baking infuses
the whole house with earthy incense.
I whisper poems into the bread,
sing to it as it rises, as it rests.
I think of every other woman,
every other man who, for over 14,500 years,
has kneaded and shaped the living dough.
I imagine all of us, flour on our cheeks,
pressing our hands into service,
all of us certain of one thing:
we are called to feed each other.