Late fall extends it’s arm,
callously sweeping last leaves
from their snug base, loosened by
jerkings of windy nature, jaundiced
and mellowed.

A “Craft Fair”, is adverted,
proudly, brashly,
welcomed by bored housewives
of mineral innuendo,
persuing...color, or life.

Small-time merchandise,
Mexican food, hand-crafted ornaments,
crocheted trinkets and sewn aprons
of Christmas patterns, middle-age
walks and talks, here, in copper country.

Yet, there is worth seen, lived
and created, with hello’s, and
“you do lovely work's" and appreciation,
analytically eyeing the creations,
musing, “I could do that...”

Eye’s avidly seek the “Bread Lady”,
having feasted on her yeasty loaves before,
lucky to have come early, to pinch,
and marvel, exclaiming at her abundance,
coveting her fruited labors...

Purchasing the hefty prize of first choice,
framed and proudly displayed in cramped,
clutched fingers, lovingly tracked
through an hour of browsing,
the heat of ownership melts the icing.

Joviality expands the rush of warm air
that clings to departure, laughter echoes...
dropped off, trunked treasures recovered,
slung onto cluttered kitchen counters,
the knife is poised...

First slice is delicate, enabling
deeper slices, twinned into toaster,
and plunged into radiant technology,
to brown, and sizzle, raisin’s plumping,
edges crisping and scenting the air.

The click of doneness, bloops, stops,
bread too thick, fingers scrabble, too hot, so
knife is grabbed, carefully manipulated,
the prize is rescued as hot cinnamon sugar
burns it’s sweetness onto her fingers...

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 12/6/02