Early mornings I stoop in fields
to gather bread in my skirt’s hollow.
Our sky-fallen supper sparkles like dew.
I harvest white handfuls every day
except the Sabbath.
We grind
bake these flakes
into bread
our bitter meal
for these wandering years
in desolate wilderness.

Homeland flavors tempt my memory:
cool fresh cucumber
savory tender lamb
tangy sweet pomegranate.
Ah, for one cup of wine,
for one last hearty crust.

Dust coats our mouths
in this comfortless land.
Weariness slows our travel
toward unfamiliar horizons.

Where is our promised milk and honey?

Last night I dreamt that a fire column
blazed through choice halved animals.
Smoke stung my nostrils.
A Voice whispered:

I awoke breathless
and crept outside my midnight tent.
A million-star vision
dazzled me.
My heart burned within.

Soon enough the sun rose
over dark fields.
But I averted my eyes, blinded
by the glory
of our daily bread.

One mouthful satisfies.


5 thoughts on “Sustenance

  1. Beautiful, God’s covenant with Abraham stood out to me and our daily bread, great use of words, heavenly. Thank you.

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