Offering by Merridawn Duckler

And after he almost died
i.e. survived that terrible illness
he took up bread baking.
He was the same laid-back guy
except now,
a manic baker.
Loaf after loaf,
formal, uniform
but weirdly singular,
animal prints in first snow.
He arrived everywhere
with bags overflowing.
They smelt
like the alleys of heaven.
Or, as we’d say: “tantalizing”
after that king whose punishment
was to stand in a river and reach for fruit
that withdrew with each try.
Of a ragged edge, he’d say: o, never mind that
that part burnt.
Though we all knew he’d broken it himself,
and threw it to the river
he had stood in, twice.