for Anthony, a student who told me this beautiful story
this bread will determine your lives,
speaking to us
her words penetrate the body to permeate the soul
the way the smell of freshly baked bread permeates la cocina,
in early morning
we rise like the bread we bake
which may or may not change the world
each loaf a poem to be written
each loaf a song to be sung
my sister’s loaf rises like a song sung from the lungs
from the innermost part of oneself
beautiful,
absolutely beautiful,
grandmother tells her she will make a lovely abuelita someday,
we watch as my loaf rises slowly
too brown around the edges
and then falls
crashing back to earth like a hatchling that dreamed too early of flight
she caresses my face
and with her eyes more than her voice she tells me
mijo, your life will be a comedy and a tragedy
I know what she says is true
I realize then, in part, I am my abuela
in part, my grandmother is me
in part, I am that loaf
in part, that loaf is me
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