My hands
are the shape of
this morning’s bagel: small
and untethered, sprinkled
with seeds, tasteful of hope
that today will hopefully be a good day.
I have made it - not for anyone
but for my own mouth. I have sipped
and tasted for years
what my hands have prepared
for me, cooked in the hope
that I could - no, will -
make a day good
for me.