Utu Man (33) A Loaf of Bread

I gathered the grains
of my past days
and baked a loaf of bread
with my own hands.

A loaf of bitter bread,
grey flour mixed with chaff,
lay on the palm of my hand,
pitted and charred.

I offered this loaf to the gods,
but they didn't want to eat
and turned their delicate noses
to the cloud-smeared chrysolite.

I offered this loaf to my father,
but he'd been in the ground too long,
his hands shot up like fir-trees,
a thick root slid through his tongue.

I offered this loaf to my dog,
but he only barked at it
and dropped it at my threshold,
all bitten and stained with dirt.

I tried to eat myself
the loaf of my past days,
but I didn’t have
enough hunger and teeth.

So I gave it to my soul
clothed in unfading array
like a wind-wound exquisite doll
made of future and clay.

She nodded and nodded her head,
and her earrings jingled so
gently as, chewing the bread,
she dropped crumbs on the floor.

Вланес, 2009

Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 790 № 71990 от 20.08.2009

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