Divinity In The Bakery

Hello, Margaret.
Can I call you that?
Yes, I know
it’s your name but
you seem to have
risen above it.
You rise above everything.

I saw you once before,
in a bakery, far from home.
You were holding a loaf of bread,
and maybe something else,
and you smiled slightly
while you waited anonymous
in the line.

I thought about coming closer,
but I remembered that
you were a goddess and that
the bread I held was stale.
Common people,
even the ones with
a love for pens and paper,
or fresh baguette with salted butter,
don’t speak to transcendent beings.
Is there a shared language between
angels and insects?

There’s nothing in common
between you
and the likes of me.

in that bakery,
I imagined our conversation
and how it would have made us
life-long friends. You’d have
loved my love of your words
and I’d tell you how I admired you
for evading the lethal darkness
that has taken so many of your kind.

Oh Maggie…
Can I call you that?
I imagine you and I,
sitting in a field of
laughing, clapping grass.
Under a trembling, jeweled tree,
we’d toast the early Muskoka summer
with a glass of red wine
while eating baby lima beans;
mine with butter, yours with cream.
We’d share a bowl of plump,
perfect strawberries and I’d be in
a big straw hat, the one in my closet
that I seldom seem to wear.
And I’d wear red,
the colour of an aspiring amateur,
taking the risk out of
drinking and eating
anything that stains.
My pallid, doughy skin
would gleam in the
fluttering sunlight.
You’d be in white;
a lovely, white, diaphanous dress
because, you never dropp anything.

Laughing at nothing,
and everything,
you’d make simple sense of things,
clearing away the clutter.
You’d smell like french lavender,
and rosemary and cake as it bakes
on a winter Sunday.
Your face,
with its long lines
and small eyes
is like the work of Modigliani,
though there are more lines now
then there used to be.

Mags, Magpie…
Oh, can I call you that?
You can tell me your secrets
as we break our bread.
Tell me how you find the words
so that I too can wear white.

by Tara Teeling

Other poems of TEELING (71)

Comments (3)

Thoughtful, ah yes! thoughtfilled indeed. I usually do not complete a long poem should it begin to ramble, but this held me to the end. The style was appropriate, the conversation easy to follow and it enthralled to the end. Adeline
I love the imagined conversation and the details in this thoughtful piece. Sometimes when you see someone who is so fresh, while you've just been loafing, it makes you feel a bit crumby (sorry, a bit of bakery humor there) . -chuck
I feel the same way when I see people who seem to radiate with life, goodness, and wisdom, and often find myself wanting to run up and say 'Hi! ' and suddenly we'd be friends for life. But shyness and doubt always win over in the end. Lovely poem.