Magazine article New Internationalist

Cheney-Coker, Syl. "Bread" // Poem

Magazine article New Internationalist

Cheney-Coker, Syl. "Bread" // Poem

Article excerpt

The spoon was walking, full, off the table to reach the poor and all their Sundays, all their lost mornings came rushing back hungry as the lion's eyes; the table was moving toward the centre, breaking its legs and all their journeys came inward to their stomachs reeking of this great forest's hunger the loaf was walking out of the oven announcing its magic yeast and the mouths of the poor began to shake trying to catch the taste of its smoke

O bread that walked away from its smoke only to deny that other smoke that sat on the flat of the lip, begging for the broth of the frog to warm the frost-bitten mouths O soles so rich in holes from biting bard on the flesh of the leather as if the journeys had led somewhere looking at these soles it would have been nice to keep for once the grain that they produced to bake their own bread it would have been nice to drink for once the milk from their cow before they confiscated it from them be nice, sitting up all night, unable to breathe because of that asthmatic seizure, to smoke a rare leaf be nice not to have been the man I have been! …

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