I’ve been increasingly embracing a sustainable way of life, so I’m taking steps in my home to make food rather than purchase a bunch of prepackaged foods. We already did a bit of this, but I’m trying to think more ecologically about everything I do. I’ve got a long way to go, but I did some baking today and it felt great. The bread tasted great as well. My kids think I can’t cook, but I’m not so bad. My dear partner J and I continued the making things at home trend I started with baking and we made a delicious tomato sauce with mushrooms that we put over penne past. Yum. All of that led to this poem tonight. Now it’s time for bed.
The Miracle of Turning Bananas into Bread
Today, in making my house a home, warmth
came from the oven where I turned old
bananas into bread. There was something
that became whole in that one small
act, the beating of the eggs, the folding
of liquid into flour, all of it spilled deep
into every cell massaging away lingering
effects of days when healing meant
shoot first and ask later, but there were
few questions to ask, there was little to say,
just a routine of needles and tubes that
these days are yet vivid but history all
the same. Still, they make the act of stirring
batter a gift, the act of turning bananas
into bread nothing short of a miracle.
That’s what it is, a miracle.