then know I am a failed baker
I acquired enough skills to get by
purchase bread out of nylon bags and forget
the touch needed to acquaint myself with the dough
formation of crushed wheat, oil and salt.
If you've come here seeking a clean house,
then know I am an artist,
the paint-can drips blotches of color over my sheets
there's always a spare pen and empty sheets of papers for words
be wary of my sleep cycle and art cycle-
Don't approach my desks, let your skin fade from mine when
I'm in the mood.
If you've come here reaching for a child,
then forget the coloring pencils hidden for white days
the lollipops of the midnight hunger and the voice that refuses
to scream in labor starting too early for other children-
cute as a button, rounded up to responsibilities of
feed and teach and get by again.
If you've come here because you find no place
to rest your shoulders, know I am not a mattress
I have long stopped giving comfort to the walls
I do not handle the cold surfaces well.
If you've come here to just seek me,
then you just need a soft knock on the door
before you hear me whisper
enter.
This is Ka'ek, substitute for bread, delicious in all occasions-
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