PoetryAloud

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Debbie Strange Reads

Bread

the harvest beneath and between our lives
is always sacred

we fall
then rise up

the seed, the sprout and stalk
the swath, the stook and staff

the bowl is full
though chipped and crazed with age

still and ever
we are

kneading soft flesh
punching down sorrow
sprinkling salts of the earth
resting in a warm place
doubling joy

we fall
then rise up

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