ISSN 1551-8086
return to home search for a contributing writer

seach for poems by title

archive of previous issues submissions information mailing list online store links to other interesting sites contact us  
  April 2019
volume 16 number 1
-table of contents-
 
  home  
 
  contributing poets
  Michelle Angelini
  luis cuauhtemoc berriozabal
  Jack G. Bowman
  Lynne Bronstein
  Deborah Edler Brown
  Anna Cates
  Beverly M. Collins
  Chella Courington
  David Flynn
  Paul Hellweg
  Glenn Ingersoll
  Scott C. Kaestner
  lalo kikiriki
  John Leonard
  Cynthia Linville
  Marieta Maglas
  Xavier McIves
  Scott Thomas Outlar
  bc petrakos
  Diana Rosen
  Walter Ruhlmann
  David Scriven
  Megha Sood
  Terrence Sykes
  Perry Terrell
  Tim Tipton
  Davide Trame
  Roman Tunkel
 
  home
  poets
  poems
  archive
  submissions
  mailing list
  store
  links
  contact
   
Deborah Edler Brown
April 2019
   

 

bio


photo by james barros

    Deborah Edler Brown is a Los Angeles-based poet, journalist, author, and teacher, with two poetry chapbooks, several writing awards, a non-fiction book, and a variety of journals and anthologies to her name. She was born in Brazil, raised in Pittsburgh, and has family on four continents. She learned to dance before she learned to walk, started writing in grade school, and is entirely in love with the magic and rhythm of words.

   

 

Breadmaking

When does breadmaking begin?
Does it start when flour is sifted
or before, when wheat is harvested,
or when wheat is planted in
visions of hot loaves steaming from
the oven?

Does butter begin when churn is turned
or cow is milked
or when fat calf cries for grain,
is nursed with bottles so there will be
milk and cheese and butter
for bread?

This kiss did not begin
when your lips touched mine,
when my knee touched yours,
when we closed the door to be alone.
It was planted
in the chance look I gave you in a bar,
thinking how much you look like someone
I remember kissing
although kissing wasn't on my mind.

It harvested the careless toss
of arm on shoulder, hand heavy as a
bale of hay, hair sunbaked wheat.
Each word and smile
pounded dough and squeezed full
udder, cut and pounded wheat to flour,
groundwork for this kiss to rise.

This kiss, fat and hot
steamed from the oven to our lips just
moments ago. But the recipe for
breadmaking has gone on
for days.

(Note: previously published in Loudmouth, 2003)

copyright 2019 Deborah Edler Brown