Wednesday, November 21, 2018

Bread


Like all of us, it begins in dark earth.

A speck grain in dirt awaiting water.

Much waiting, much later, it reaches air,

And three elements are knitted again --

Grain, water, bubbling breath, awaiting fire.


Deemed the humblest of meals, of little worth

Except to inmates as workhouse fodder,

Yet daily we whisper for it in prayer,

The food of angels, descended to men,

The body of God, our hungry desire.



copyright by M.K. Christiansen
Bayboro, NC
Nov. 21, 2018

3 comments:

Kezzie said...

That is beautiful!!!

Granny Marigold said...

Another great poem!

GretchenJoanna said...

Too wonderful - and at Thanksgiving! Thank you, Mary Kathryn. <3