Slow yeast in a blue bowl

I threw
everything of myself

into the mix, hoping
to rise

as the elements rose—
Into the bubbling well

I dove with my new
immigrant’s papers, my best

pair of shoes, my two
pieces of luggage and change

from the cab that idled
in the drive while I checked

the address I clutched
in one hand. When ice

spangled the branches
I steadied my not yet

automatic heart,
making it promises.

I thought of bodies
floating through the cabin,

their smiles miniature moons
etched on glass.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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