The Conquest of Bread

In Poetry on November 5, 2011 at 4:05 am

Mother was an injection molder
who’s groped a Gulf War mask.

I stood up my career after school. She’s still waiting
where I left her in her tight wound hair. I am drawing
a generic couple rolling in flour
across the counter, pining for my lost union.

Father said any man could earn a loaf of bread.
Matt served four years educating our drama queens.

And I guess he was right about that one—father
not Matt—we broke Challah with the Weavers
when I was the deck of cards arching
in the hands of old ladies playing poker
down in the church cellar.
They showed me how the sun can impale
itself on the steeple at dusk.

Mother warms the table—
Her sunny-side always up eggs slapping father’s
red eye. My name is Smith, the Ellis Island
fabrication of who I was to be.


Ariana D. Den Bleyker is a Pittsburgh native that currently resides in a small town in New York where she is a wife and mother of two. Earning a B.A. in English, she is a graduate of William Paterson University. She draws much of her energy from her own life experiences, late night musings, and reading and writing lots and lots of poetry. When she’s not writing, she’s spending time with her family and every once in a while sleeps. Her chapbook, Forgetting Aesop, was recently released by the publishers of scissors and spackle.


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