Ode to Bread

Ode to bread.

In New Mexico I was spoiled by dry air,

So shock takes over this rainy Illinois week

When I find my loaf has molded.

I cut the bottoms off each slice

And keep eating.

Bread in high form is croissant,

In low it’s called any ground grain

That rises.

Bread, the staff of life.

Manna from heaven

must have been bread.

The crumbled crust of Hansel and Gretel,

The piece floated in a cup of onion soup,

Or sprinkled over salad as croutons.

And what of bread and water?

Bread that is holy,

Like the communion wafer,

The Sabbath challah, Passover’s matzo?

I remember something from the New Testament;

Loaves and fishes, right? Those must be loaves

Of bread. Loaves is the word love with “A” added.

I don’t know the etymology,

But don’t believe this is an accident.

Bread is love.

Love is bread.