I worry myself,
pushing and punching my anxiety,
seeking some transformation
some alchemy to remove it,
sticking, stuck,
from my fingers.
Instead, it spreads,
thickens, fat
strands of yeast
linking, tangling,
then rising
in the space I give it.
A question--how to let it rest
so my bread isn't
tough, sour in my mouth
rich but nourishing,
filling/fulfilled?
who can resist a bread metaphor?