Morning Bread
Heartbeat watery as citrus, she
displaces fragments of eggshell
and membrane between fingertips
like a broken prayer bead, flour
molecules settled into windowsills
and misparted hair. Yeast steeps
in a tincture of lavender honey
before dough draws in the morning
damp and swells past fragile lips.
Those rare cookbooks passed down
family lines advise minding liquid
measurements to offset sea level. She
brushes her torn earlobe and bathes the
whisk. She has miscalculated the rain.