This morning the flour and fat,
Butter, yeast, and salt
Work beneath my hands until
Velvety smoothness emerges.
This sensual act necessary.
The satisfaction in change,
The hope for stretchy perfection,
The gratification in feeding my people.
I’m kneading away hate.
This emotion, call it love,
Infusing this dough,
Can’t find a way forward.
Powerless to change the omnipresent news
So odiously orange,
So vitriolic,
so vile.
I bring together the parts I can control.
Roll them into smooth harmony,
Watch them rise together,
And dream this will literally come true.
Put Out to Pasture 