December 5, 2017

making bagels with my father

He was here in the kitchen, I'm sure of it, beside me at the Cuisinart
when a fine dust of flour escaped as the blade started spinning,
here when I pressed "Off" and opened the lid to reach in for the dough, and here
when I made those first turns on the countertop. It was one of those things
I hadn't learned from him specifically, like how to write a résumé or do my taxes, 
but his voice entered the room anyway, his long thin hands cupped around
the edge of my right shoulder as I dug into this strange, new art,
reminding me, like always, to stay patient and forgiving if the first try
failed my best intentions, and watching, wishful and wild-eyed, as inside the oven
my own innocence returned, blooming with potential.