Rummaging deep in the freezer yesterday turning
over bags of blueberries blintzes pea soup two

pewter skinned brook trout near the bottom numb
fingers closed on a heel of brown bread a surprise

My cupped hands held what's left of what your earthy
golden hands mixed and let rise pummeled caressed

and baked last summer then brought to me to us

Today the thawed bread smells oven fresh as it falls
in crusty slices under my mother-in-law's rough blade

of carbon steel I break the end chunk in pieces taste again
the rich plainness of you a quarter-curve of earth away
and fill my mouth with absence two for breakfast ever?

Who says half a loaf is better than none?