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I lay down tea towels

Underneath the heavy white mixing bowl,

Measuring cups and teaspoons,

So there will be no clatter.

No sound of ceramic or metal meeting tile.

The baby sleeps, three and a half months new to this world,

As I soundless scurry on counter-tops,

To reach high-placed flour.

I barely breathe.

The baby still sleeps

As I mix and knead

Adding flour until the dough is as smooth

As my baby’s skin, as round as the crown of his head.

I put the dough to rise near the oven,

Feeling victorious as the baby sleeps,

As if I could bring peace to the world

From this, our small, warm-housed, quiet universe.

© 2012, Sarah Joy Hadler. All rights reserved.

Sarah Joy Hadler (7 Posts)


3 Comments

  1. Sarah Joy such lovely thoughts you put to paper. :)

  2. Very clever, totally enjoyable.

  3. Anya Pham

    Very heartwarming!

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