this is not what you thought you’d be reading
and honestly it’s not what I thought I would be writing
either, but this makes us allies, companions
in an unknown landscape, like students moved midyear
to a new school— cue up the cafeteria humiliation reel,
light the cheek’s fierce burn that sends hot sparks
to pock holes in the tiny hope chests tucked inside
our preteen hearts and most of us are still packing
some of that sorrow. The story we thought this might
be telling with its breadcrumb trail has slunk down
at the loser table to foot funk level in a plastic seat
with corroded chair legs, or better yet, it turned tail
and ran before even walking into the room
like we wish we had done instead of trying to sashay
across the page in the wrong clothes wearing
the cheap perfume of fake it till you make it like it’s
the kind of story that never sat alone at a table
pretending it didn’t want to die, but that story
and that story’s lie is long gone. So we begin again.
Each day. And look, whatever we didn’t think
this would be has been taking shape beneath our faces,
kneading its own dough, punching it down, letting it rise,
checking the oven, and now warm brown loaves
cool on a windowsill like in a book of fairy tales,
curls of steam lifting from their dark aromatic crusts,
delicious, whole wheat, gluten-free, or however
you need it, bread to pass between us in a story
we didn’t know would have a kitchen or windowsill
or cupboard where you find butter and I find
strawberry preserves, or a table where we sit down
together, take out our hidden knives, use them to spread
these slices, smooth the sweet jam, share the bread.
Hayden Saunier’s books of poetry include How to Wear This Body, Say Luck, Tips for Domestic Travel, and Field Trip to the Underworld. Her new book of poetry, A Cartography of Home is due out in early 2021. (www.haydensaunier.com)