BREAD,
(from the shelf behind the counter;
wound in a single sheet of white tissue paper by working hands;
warm to the touch as I held it skipping all the way;
to its place centre table;
to be unwrapped by the hands I trusted to be there for ever;
to be sliced to the same rhythm, not the rhythm of the tea cups being stirred,
nor the rhythm of the phone being dialled, or the rhythm of the clock ticking;
as the golden dust of scorched flour settled on the scratched bread board;
left over crumbs were tidied away – tossed into the fire)
& BUTTER,
(cold from the pantry under the stairs,
working with an enormous knife with a yellow handle,
I rip holes for things to fall through,) things like
BAKED BEANS, &
SUGAR.
Lovely images and imaginative form, perfect for the poem.
A bit of slicing here and there?
Not sure you need the brackets – the uppercase words do the job of separating the list from the memories. Do you need ‘by working hands’? And ‘I held it’?… Maybe ‘as I skipped all the way / to its place centre table’?
Fab!