Minding the Bread

on the island
on the last good day
you stayed behind
while they went walking
so you could mind the bread

you timed it, turned it out
knocked the base
left it cooling on wire
feeling proud of those twin loaves
warm as skin
the authenticity

and when they tumbled back
wind bright
heaving off their walking boots
unwinding scarves
bringing the smell of the mountain
into the bread fug kitchen
where you sat reading
at the scrubbed table
smug as a provider

they fell on those loaves
tore them
crammed their mouths
with the still-warm, doughy slices
smacked their lips
at crusts
thick with butter
announcing, there was nothing like it
and why didn't we always do it
then left the table

and you staring at the bread board
those crumbs
the breadknife glinting
thinking
there's no way
to satisfy anyone