Bread Mix. A poem by Pat Jourdan

I was the only one buying bread mix –
February, August and November.
Squirrelled away at the back of the shelf,
too old-fashioned, stuffy.
Just add water and the homely photograph
will appear in your kitchen, a recreation of the past.

And then it became needed,
its neglected out-of-date packages valuable;
but from a year ago.
Even worse, the yeast was overdue in 2018 –
such laissez-faire!
Ladling in extra yeast, mixing, hoping,
the magic worked,
yeast drawing in air from everywhere.
The kitchen bloomed with a warm fug,
all childhoods resurrected
in one simple white loaf.
The lockdown
making the house more valuable than before.


Poems, short stories and novels -as well as paintings ( My fourth novel, One Hundred Views of NW3 is just out -on Amazon. Winner of the Molly Keane Short Story Award and second in the Michael McLaverty Short Story Award. Bits of writing on:

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