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(poetry diary 66) When we moved into our house a couple of years ago, I found a few tools (a sifter, a colander, and a bowl) for baking left in the kitchen cabinets.  I’m told  that the woman who lived here before us was a great baker, and that she would invite the girl across the street over for lessons on how to make bread and other good things.  (The woman also loved the Yankees, so to honor her I keep a big Yankees cup that my husband and I got at one of the games out on one of our counters. 🙂 )

I read a “recipe poem” about baking (i.e. a piece that could read both as a recipe and as a poem) at Alimentum: The Literature of Food today. It reminded me of what I imagine the previous owner of our house might have been a little like:

Grandmother’s Bread

Wilda Morris

When I asked Grandmother how to bake bread,
she said put on an apron, gather the ingredients.

Roll up your sleeves. Pour out a mound of flour.
Make a valley in the white mountain, she said,
and plant yeast. Let a little salt snow fall.

Read rest of poem