When I have worked so long to make my identity mine
how do I share it with you? To split my
self, tear off a piece and put it in your hand takes
generosity. After a little life of all mine
it may take me a big while to know how to share.
But here’s what I’ve learned: I must give you a token of me
for a token of you. A trade like a confession
which brings weakness and power,
strands of dough twisted in strong hands.
Plaited like a loaf, the only
thing to do to get to me is to tear
us apart, rip at our braid and spoil the bite. Think of the crumbs we’d lose!
To bake now in the oven alone
would surely burn me.
