Waiting To Rise Poem by Lauren Erimita

Waiting To Rise

Rating: 5.0


I can feel the dough beneath my fingers
press into the crevices of my hand.
I knead and pound, the way my mother did
and my grandmother before her,
forcefully ravaging the mixture of
flour, sugar, and yeast
to produce the sweet bread.

The recipe is known well to me,
a tradition I can remember, manifest
and taste.

Our history, though slightly distant here
is sensed in the aroma of Hallah,
and all the pounding.


All that is left,
all that one can do now,
is wait for the yeast to rise.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Fred Babbin 07 January 2010

Nice poem. Quiet and nice.

0 0 Reply
Fred Babbin 07 January 2010

Another nice poem. Quiet and nice.

0 0 Reply
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