Homestead, Home Bread

March 15, 2010

I got the best gift: a hand-me-down breadmaker.
The man is not impressed, but the little girl loves it
and sings songs that go ‘home bread, home bread.’
My friend gave it to me complete with
two kinds of flour and also yeast
because she is generous, not because
she has scant faith in my domestic abilities.
I made my first loaf.
I preened a little.
But then my friend came over and took stock.
“Um,” she said. She took a deep breath.
“Where did you get this measuring cup?”
“I’m not sure. It’s kind of old,” I said proudly.
“It doesn’t look very…scientific.”
“That’s okay,” I reassured her, “because
I don’t have actual measuring spoons either,
but look how lucky, my soup spoons and sugar spoons
are probably pretty close to table and teaspoons–
look, doesn’t this big one look
about like a tablespoon
to you?”
She staggered a little.
I offered her some brandy.
But when it bakes, it smells like heaven.


March 12, 2010

You’re supposed to bow your head to pray.
But I hate that posture.
It’s submission, punishment, shame.
It feels like a cage.
I have no truck with cages.
You’ll find me out in the field,
head flung back to catch the stars.

Weary Traveler

March 10, 2010

Sadly, even in Kyoto,
hotels still just look like
Buying a convini dinner at 10pm
I remembered why I smoked so much
when touring with the play.
The body wants so desperately to calm itself
and return to equilibrium.
Tonight I am trying breathing
and chocolate purin instead.
It works kinda sorta as well.

(It works better than my iPhone;
can’t get a pic into my post!)

post-edit: it was bleak.


March 6, 2010

We tried Chim-chimmery, and
but the real winner was:
Put A Ring On It.
All the single ladies, put your hands up!
Oh, oh, oh, to be up.
Mostly, she just made up her own songs.
They went: Whhaaaaaahrarararaaaaah.

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