Sustenance in Bread
To my Mom

Flour flies on her face
as she throws more
onto the dough she kneads.
With precision and imperceptible speed she packages the dough
into bread pan after bread pan.
She dances around the kitchen
pulling out fresh bread
from the oven
and replaces them
with new ones
loaf after loaf
kneaded
packaged
thrown in the oven
pulled out of the oven.
Flour flies
and lands
on the ceiling
the floors
in her hair.
The last loaf finally baked
she takes it out
like all the other loaves.
Bare-handed.
Flour-handed.
She smiles.
We sit at the table,
milk and brown sugar ready.
She slices one loaf.
She sits with us.
After school treat.
Maybe this feast will be dinner.

Calling

I watched her dance
with every step
up and over
rocks, twigs, and roots
and heard her thank
the trees, the rocks, the earth for guiding her. I heard voices
familiar and unheard before:
my mother, her father, and his. They danced alongside her
and sang, and skipped, and smiled as deeper into the woods we went. I watched her dance
while I was pulled up and away, torn between staying with her
and joining them.

DANIELLE WONG is a poet and author of short fiction. She has a collection of poetry about life with a child with special needs titled Bubble Fusion. Some of her other work is found on Soft Cartel and in various anthologies, such as Lean In, The Way Through, and Overture. She showcases some of her work on her website, https://daniellewong.ca, as well. She was born and raised in Saskatchewan, but now lives in Montreal.