MAKE A PAN OF BISCUITS

Make a pan of biscuits.
I will sit right here and watch,
Ears alert, thirsting for the story
To emerge from this batch—eyes
Fixed, ready to behold the
Beauty of your craft unfold.

As you sift through the flour, baking powder,
And salt of your life. Pull, push, and stretch out
This handful.

Work the dough around in
Your hands – pinch pieces a way,
Round and flatten them out—
Then put them in your black iron skillet.

This is ritualistic—nothing to measure
That cannot be measured by estimation.
And your sense of it is in the realm of what
Is naturally highest of the highest.

I smell them
Rising
Always rising
Sweet bread rising, fruit of the earth.

I split one open and a stream of steam escapes
Ghosts crowd in the kitchen and dance;
Mambo, Cha cha, Jitterbug, the butter melts my soul
And steeps into the perforated holes of the biscuit.

Sustain is what you do.
Feed the hungry.
Hope is what you give,
And life is who you are!

Barbara Newsome, 2009