Poem Text:

Cast Your Bread Upon the Waters

After Ecclesiastes 11

The dough you made
with your two hands, ingredients
you pondered, bought, stirred
until they came together,
the hours it took to let the dough rise,
rounded loaves you sculpted
with your fingers,
laundry you folded
while the dough turned
crisp and you tried
not to open the oven door,
all this waiting
waiting.

Take these crafted loaves,
your very best,
wrap them in linen cloth,
place them inside a woven basket, then toss
them on the expanse of the ocean,
watch them bob
across shadowy waves. Pray
they do not grow soggy
or moldy, that your basket
does not tip over, drowning
your creations in the endless
forgetfulness of the sea.

This is your moment,
a mother’s risk,
your child floating
in a basket on the Nile.
Perhaps your bread
will land on the shoreline of an enemy,
feeding those you have feared.

Or maybe, years from now,
your bread will grow legs,
this risk will save you,
lead you across the waters
on dry land.

© Jenna Brack, 2021