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Show EATING BREAD for my grandmother Your last day on earth, Antonia Maria Batista, And bread in the oven. For eighty-one years You fed your children Your grandchildren Your great grandchildren, Bargaining with the earth, the sky, The few grains in your clenched hands. Today you lie on the brass bed In your flowered apron Your face and hair a white flower On the pillow The smell of bread filling the room Your words coming like shadows. Take the bread out of the oven, you say, A round shining loaf of bread For your children. |