We Kneaded Yeast.

In my dreams
I'm scraping bowls
and dropping dough
onto flat surfaces
once clean, now sticky.
A contagious
mound of yawning
gluten is proof
that yeast breathes.
Now wash the bread,
and bake it in because
as soon as patient
mouths are fed,
the clean-up begins.





.

seasonal

freeze over me
and call me tired,
and a collector of
your thoughts which
seep into my brain
only to extrovert
themselves on my hair.
It's not until I'm in the house
and the gloves are off
that I notice
my body is a graveyard
of melted drips that are memories
of the winter.





.