One thing is certain
poems need yeast,
whether the slow
kneading, lay
covered in warm
dark while what rises
does, punch it down
in the morning,
do it all again
sort of yeast
or the quick,
throw in the bread machine
with whatever’s at hand—
either way,
like bread hot from
your kitchen, a poem
that comes out lumpy,
too thick in the middle,
a little burned on either end
is better
than none at all.

-Pauletta Hansel