The trick to flouring the bench
when rolling out dough or kneading:
A palm twist, and a breath
of skillful gauze
keeps raw dough pliant,
peeling clean from smooth wood,
silky to the hand.
The same craft releases tiny, even
flakes of snow on every surface.
A layer between flesh
and pull of earth.
In twilight, thorns of cold air,
the dust of ice, disguise
the planet’s deep magma.
Summer will soon raise and ripen
the loaf, the adventure.
Rain will glaze the urban crust.
Patience tunes the gaze.
When you flex aching hands,
shake out your shoulders,
stars sift from the densest clouds.
Click here to read Mary Elizabeth Birnbaum on the origin of the poem.
Image: photo by Duncan Kidd on Unsplash, licensed under CC 2.0.
Mary Elizabeth Birnbaum was born, raised, and educated in New York City. She has studied poetry at the Joiner Institute in UMass, Boston. Mary’s translation of the Haitian poet Felix Morisseau-Leroy has been published in The Massachusetts Review, the anthology Into English (Graywolf Press), and in And There Will Be Singing, An Anthology of International Writing by The Massachusetts Review, 2019 as well. Her work is forthcoming or has recently appeared in Lake Effect, J-Journal, Spoon River Poetry Review, Soundings East, and Barrow Street.
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